


The Hound and the Lotus

by Mystria21



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-07-18 16:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystria21/pseuds/Mystria21
Summary: Sandor Clegane is the monster most people have nightmares about, but not to Myla (OC). Her nightmares contain The Mountain, Gregor Clegane, her betrothed. Amidst the beatings and fear, Myla finds a friend in Sandor-who is also dealing with his own monsters. Can the two survive the horrors The Mountain inflicts and learn to live a fulfilled life? AU, diverging story Season 2 on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any of these characters or the Game of Thrones series. I have chosen to add my own character to certain events of Book/Season 2 and then will eventually take the story onto its own timeline where the world of Westeros still exists but there will be no connection to the storyline after the Battle of Blackwater Bay.

**Authors Note:**  I do not own any of these characters or the Game of Thrones series. I have chosen to add my own character to certain events of Book/Season 2 and then will eventually take the story onto its own timeline where the world of Westeros still exists but there will be no connection to the storyline after the Battle of Blackwater Bay. This story is not finished.

Also, I have reworked this chapter from its original posting. Please let me know what you think in a review!

* * *

My body creaked as I peeled my crusty eyes open. I flexed my toes, unsure why I felt so sore. I followed the wooden beams of the ceiling to the nearest wall where I saw an old man with a long white beard sitting behind a desk, writing something.

Where the hell was I?

"Ah!" the old man exclaimed, "you're awake. How do you feel?"

I wiggled my shoulders and new pain rippled through my body. Black specks danced across my vision. "Horrible," I replied. "Where am I?"

The man slowly rose out of his chair, "Hmm." he grumbled. "You don't remember?"

"No," I growled, "that's why I'm asking!"

He shuffled to me, chains clanging as he moved. "You had a nasty fall I'm afraid and landed on some gardening tools. I would have moved you back to your rooms, but I needed to be watchful for infection. So far so good."

I laid my head back down onto the hard surface. Gardening tools?

Maester Pycelle continued, "You'll have scars on your back for the rest of your life, I presume, but better than being dead." He began to shuffle back to his desk. "Now that you're awake, I will send for someone to come and bring you back to your rooms. Hugh!"

A squire appeared in the doorway. "Tell Clegane that she has awoken and needs assistance back to her rooms." The squire ran out quickly.

"The Hound? Joffrey's dog? Why call upon him?"

Pycelle shuffled back to his desk, his shoulders severely hunched. "Clegane was the one to bring you to me. Perhaps he can help you remember, hmm?"

A few minutes later, The Hound appeared in the doorway. As usual, he wore a scowl, as if this was the last place in the world that he wanted to be. I looked away.

"Give this to her handmaiden, would you, Clegane? She needs it applied twice a day, starting when she arrives in her rooms." Maester Pycelle handed The Hound ointment from behind his desk. "Oh, and be careful not to open those wounds again while you carry her."

Without a word, The Hound lifted me up and walked out of the tiny office. Surprisingly, his touch felt light and gentle on my skin.

The Hound, Sandor Clegane, was not known for his gentle touch, by any means. He was a killer, everyone knew that—people feared him even. Hell, I even feared him. For the short time I had been in the Red Keep, Joffrey had made my life a living hell-at least that much I could remember-and The Hound had always stood idly by to let Joffrey torture me.

I glared up at him. The scar on his face took up most of his right side. Stringy hair attempted to cover it, but to no avail. The skin looked mangled and wrinkly. But as I looked past his scar, I could see his gray eyes—they reminded me of my brother's.

"The fuck you looking at?"

I looked away, scared. "Sorry," I mumbled.

"Seven Hells," The Hound mumbled back. "What's your name, girl?"

"Myla, sir."

The Hound scoffed, "I'm no sir. You! Handmaiden!"

I looked to where he yelled. A girl stopped in her tracks, fearful.

"Where are Lady Myla's rooms?"

"Down the hall and up the stairs, m'lord."

The Hound growled at the title, but ignored it. "Who is the lady's head handmaiden?"

The girl looked at him, stunned. "King Joffrey, sir . . . he ordered all of her handmaidens to work for other ladies. Lady Myla no longer has any."

"The little . . . " The Hound mumbled under his breath. "You, help me with her then."

The girl remained frozen. "I . . . I cannot, m'lord. King Joffrey forbid any of us to help her. Please, sir, if I am seen even talking to her, the King will . . ."

Again, The Hound growled. "Never mind then. Off with you."

The girl, frightened, ran quickly away.

The Hound once again started walking. His armor the only sound in the hallway. When he reached my rooms, he opened the door and placed me softly onto the edge of the bed.

Sitting up didn't hurt too much if I remained still.

I watched as The Hound paced my rooms, how long did he intend to stay? It only took a few steps before he would reach the end of the room then turn around the opposite direction. His hand rested on his sword.

Finally, he stopped and looked at me. His eyes seemed confused. Was he planning on ending his own misery and killing me here and now?

"You've been very helpful," I paused, perhaps he wouldn't hurt me if I was nice. Should I call him "sir?" Instead, I decided to just keep going. "I do not wish to be more of a burden to you. You may leave now."

Silence filled the room and made both of us squirm. The Hound's chest rose and fell in one large huff. With two steps, he closed the distance between us. "Stand up and turn the fuck around."

My eyes grew wide with fear. What was he going to do? I slowly stood up. Had Joffrey put him up to this?

He must have noticed my fear, since he said, "Bloody hells, woman, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to apply the fucking ointment."

I blushed. I had thought . . . nevermind that. It was then that I realized he was trying to help me. I suddenly felt guilty for fearing him. Yes, Joffrey found pleasure in my pain, and I slightly suspected my "fall" had something to do with him, but The Hound hadn't ever hurt me. Yet would he have if Joffrey had ordered it?

The Hound growled, "turn around."

I obeyed.

Slowly, I felt my dress being loosened as The Hound peeled it from my back. I cringed at the pain and held my dress over my chest with my arms. I heard The Hound gasp and imagined what he might be seeing: deep, red gashes? I heard The Hound open the cap to the jar Maester Pycelle gave him and braced myself for pain.

A few calloused fingers touched me and I gasped. My nails dug into my fists. I heard The Hound mumble a few curses but he kept going.

After a few seconds, the ointment felt cool on my skin and I began to relax. The Hound's hand ran the length of my back and it gave me chills. I'd never been touched like that before.

His fingers slowed and eventually lifted from my skin. The ointment continued to tingle.

"Thank yo-"

"Seven Hells," The Hound said as he stomped out the door.

I stood there, jolted, alone.

What the fuck was happening?

First I find out I fell on  _gardening tools._ Then, The Hound acts nice?

 _Damn,_  I suddenly remembered, I didn't ask him how he found me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note** : Please review and let me know how you are liking the story! I have made changed from the original posting, and would like feedback! I will be updating the story everyday on the weekend and then pausing on the weekdays.

* * *

The next morning, after a night of pain, a girl showed up at my door. She bowed politely and went to finding a dress for me to wear.

"Did King Joffrey send you?" I looked up at her curiously.

"No, m'lady. Sandor Clegane, m'lady."

"Are you not afraid of disobeying the King?" I asked, remembering that Joffrey had denied me servants-not that I needed them.

The girl's eyes flickered with fear for only a second. "Sir Sandor . . . he said he would protect me."

"And you believe him?"

Her eyes locked with mine. "Yes, I believe he would keep his word."

Her confidence in The Hound shocked me. There had to be more to the story. I studied the girl. Her dress fell shapeless around her skinny limbs and her brown hair drifted down her back. She was maybe thirteen, if even that. Her eyes captured me the most. They had a spark to them, one not often seen in servants. Her eyes held bravery.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Sable, m'lady." She curtsied slightly and then returned to the closet, conversation closed.

I lifted myself off the bed as slowly as I could. Sleeping on my stomach made every muscle ache. I groaned loudly.

Sable rushed to my side, a dress hanging over her shoulder. "Careful, m'lady, you do not want to reopen the wounds." She helped me come to a sitting position and I dangled my feet off the side of the bed.

"What is the dress for?" I croaked.

Sable's eyes flickered once more. "The King . . . he sent for you, miss. He wants to speak with you."

I closed my eyes in pain. Why today? Did Joffrey know of my fall? I had a creeping suspicion that he did.

"Sir Clegane is waiting for you outside the door, m'lady."

I rolled my eyes. Once more The Hound was to aid me, yet this time probably wasn't out of the goodness of his heart-if there was any. "Let's get this visit over with, shall we?" I said.

Sable's hand rested on my shoulder to stop me. "I must apply the ointment first, miss."

I nodded, remembering how The Hound had touched me last night. How could someone with a reputation of a killer be so gentle?

Sable's hands were gentle and soft—nothing like The Hound's calluses—but I still welcomed the coolness of the ointment. I focused on her touch in order to stop my mind from wandering.

A pounding at the door made me jump.

"Almost finished in there?" The Hound's deep voice yelled.

"Yes, sir. A few more minutes, sir." Sable answered.

I heard The Hound growl at the title, but he did not correct her.

Sable slipped the dress on me, careful not the stretch my wounds, and tied it lightly in the back. I could feel the fabric rub against my torn skin. It did not feel pleasant. Taking one last look at me, Sable nodded and opened the door.

The Hound glanced in and I stood there awkwardly, trying not to move.

"Let's go." He rumbled.

I took a few tentative steps. Oh, it hurt. By the time I had finally exited the doorway, The Hound was already down the hall. I tried to catch up, but the dress rubbed too much for my liking.

The Hound stopped, sighed loudly, and walked back towards me. His armor clanged loudly down the hall and his face scowled at me. When he reached me, he towered over me, and looked me in the eyes.

"Wrap your arms around my neck." He commanded.

I did as he said and felt him lift me off the ground. I rolled my eyes when a passing thought mentioned that this had become a tradition for us.

He saw the expression and replied, "Don't get used to it."

Again, my mind rushed to conclusions about what Joffrey would want or how he would hurt me. With each large step The Hound took, my heart sank. A small voice in my head told me that I needed to be strong, but I could not heed it.

"On your knees!" Joffrey yelled in my face.

I glared at him, defiant. We'd been through this routine before, and I had had enough.

Joffrey grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back. "You will obey me. I am King!"

Mustering my saliva, I spat in his face.

He growled at me, "You disgusting bitch!" still holding onto my hair. "Dog!" he yelled.

The Hound walked over, his face firm, and handed Joffrey a handkerchief. Joffrey wiped his face off slowly, then stuffed the cloth in my mouth. Letting go of my hair, he pushed me to my knees. "You'll pay for that," he said as he brought the knife into my view. I struggled to stand, to just get away, but he immediately stabbed my thigh.

The gag muffled my screams and my hands shook. His eyes glistened as he stared into mine. He turned the knife slowly, as if he was digging for something. Tears began to stream down my face.

"What word would you like today?" Joffrey cooed. "How about 'bitch'?"

Suddenly he pulled the knife out and I could feel the blood gush out of my body. He started then to carve into my skin, every second staring at me, watching the pain on my face.

The Hound grumbled, bringing me back to reality. "Just do what Joffrey says, don't resist. When you resist, it just makes it worse. Just . . . Don't be stupid. There isn't enough room in this hell-hole world for idiots."

"You could stop him, you know?"

"That would make me an idiot."

"Right," I growled, "because protecting innocent women is beneath you."

"No one is innocent" he whispered.

In front of the throne room door, The Hound placed me down. I took a deep breath. He pushed the door open and led me by the elbow. Each step shot pain through me, but thankfully he walked slowly.

"Ah, finally," Joffrey commented from the Iron Throne, "It is not good to keep your King waiting." He stood up and crossed his arms behind his back.

The Hound released my elbow and walked up the stairs to stand by Joffrey's side. No one else was in the throne room. I did not like feeling so alone, so vulnerable.

Joffrey continued, "I have heard news of your fall, my lady." I cringed at the title, something was definitely off. "Can you tell me how it happened?"

"I don't remember," I squirmed, then glanced quickly at The Hound, "my King."

Joffrey's eyebrows shot up, clearly pleased I had finally used the title. "What do you remember?"

I thought hard. Last night I had fallen straight into my bed and into my dreams. I hadn't yet tried to remember the events before my "accident." What was the last thing I remembered?

"I remember . . . sitting in my room." With Sansa. But I wasn't about to let Joffrey know that.

"I see," he paced back and forth. I felt a shiver move up my spine. "Well, who cares what you remember! My dog tells me he found you at the base of your window. Good thing he did too, because, without him, you might have succeeded in killing yourself."

"I didn't try to kill myself!" I yelled. But, did I? And what did Sansa have to do with it?

Joffrey glared at me. "If I say you tried to kill yourself, then you tried to kill yourself."

I glared back. "The only reason I would want to kill myself is so I can never see your ugly ass face again!"

In anger, Joffrey stomped toward me. "Whore! Maybe I'll kill you myself!"

"Go ahead, do me a favor!"

He growled, placing his hand on his sword. I glared right back at him.

Suddenly, Tyrion, Joffrey's dwarf uncle, marched out of the small council chamber and down toward us. Other members of the small council followed him. Tyrion stopped next to us.

"Lady Myla, I am so sorry to hear about your fall. Is there anything I can get for you? Perhaps, I could escort you back to your rooms to get some rest?"

I watched Joffrey closely, but then responded, "An escort back to my rooms would be wonderful, Lord Tyrion, however, I fear that I will need to take extra slow steps to avoid any discomfort."

"Of course, of course. It is a good thing that I am a dwarf then and have small footsteps! Shall we?" He motioned for me to walk toward the door. As we walked away, he turned and said, "Good day, nephew. So sorry to miss you in another small council meeting."

Joffrey straightened his back and scoffed, "a King does not bother himself with such things."

Looking over my shoulder, I made sure Joffrey saw me roll my eyes. Wasn't it the King's duty to run the country? And then my eyes shifted to look at The Hound. He still stood next to the throne, but his eyes met mine. I could hear his voice say, "Idiot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: Please review and let me know how you are liking the story! I will be updating the story everyday on the weekend and then pausing on the weekdays.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note** : Please review and let me know how you are liking the story! I have made significant changes since the original post. I will be updating the story everyday on the weekend and then pausing on the weekdays.

* * *

That night, I was summoned to Joffrey's chambers no doubt to face punishment. The Hound once more came to escort me, but this time he did not carry me. Instead, we walked slowly in silence down the halls of the Red Keep.

As soon as we entered Joffrey's antechamber, he said, "Finally! It seems next time I'll need to tell my dog to drag you down the halls!"

Sandor bowed and stood at his usual spot, ready to "guard" the King and watch me be beaten.

Suddenly, Joffrey's hand shot up and motioned for someone to walk forward.

On my right, a man entered the light. His body was tall and muscular—almost giant-like. His face scowled even more than The Hound's. Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, stepped toward me.

Fearfully, I took a few steps back until the closed door stopped me. Joffrey had never given up the chance to hurt me himself, but then why else was The Mountain here? Joffrey laughed at my reaction.

"I've decided it is time for you to be wed, Lady Myla Reyne, to Sir Gregor Clegane within the next fortnight. It is quite an honor, really, after the unspeakable things you've said to me. In fact, you should be on your knees, right now, thanking me." He looked at me keenly.

I glared back at him, then looked at The Hound. Don't be an idiot, his voice said.

I kneeled, slowly, pain rippling through my body.

"Well, well," Joffrey cooed, "See how easy that was? Come, dog, let us leave the two to . . . get to know one another."

I looked up at The Hound, fear etched on my face. Would he truly leave me alone with The Mountain? Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms feared The Mountain much more than they feared The Hound. The Mountain held a strong reputation for his fiery temper and willingness to kill even women and children. It is well known that Sir Gregor Clegane raped Elia Martell and killed her children in front of her; He was not a man of mercy.

The Hound's back met my stare as he followed Joffrey into the bedroom. My heart sunk.

The Mountain sneered at me. "Get up," he commanded.

I pulled myself from the floor.

He was even taller than his brother and my neck hurt looking up at him. I glared with all the courage I could muster.

"You're a feisty one, I see. That will make you much more interesting than my past wives." He smiled, showing rotten teeth. "You've already survived the King's unique form of branding. How many words do you have on your body now? Surely much more than the previous wives would have handled—yes, you will make a great wife."

I took a deep breath and willed my voice to be firm. "I would rather die."

His massive hand grabbed my arm, and in one swift motion, he lifted my entire body off the ground. A rip came from my back and I screamed in pain.

He held me at eye level, "I can arrange that, but first, I'll get what I can out of you."

I squirmed, ignoring the hot, sticky blood on my back.

"Perhaps I will start now." The Mountain leered. "Joffrey's bed is taken, but the floor will do just fine as well."

Suddenly, my feet met the ground and I fell onto my back. The Hound once more towered over me, facing his brother. His voice was deep and strong when he spoke, "She's not yours yet."

The siblings glared at each other menacingly.

The Mountain glanced quickly at me, then replied, "Only a matter of time, little brother. Don't you remember the last time you tried to stop me from taking a wife?"

Tears welled in my eyes as the full force of his words struck me. The Mountain was right. The Hound couldn't protect me forever. When The Mountain became my husband, he could do anything to me, anything at all, and no one would stop him.

The Hound turned to look at me only when his brother had completely left the room and his footsteps no longer echoed down the hall. He shuffled his feet, unsure how to respond to my tears.

I refused to look at him. My father had always said crying showed weakness, yet I couldn't stop myself. My breaths came out as gasps and my stomach clenched.

I heard The Hound clear his throat and his armor crunched as he knelt down to my level.

"Shh, girl. It will be alright."

I sniffed, "How could you say that? I'll be the toy to The Mountain soon. He will be even worse than Joffrey! He'll rape me as many times as he wishes, hurt me whenever he wants." I raised my voice. "Does that seem alright to you?"

The Hound shhed me. "Do you want to wake Joffrey up?"

I growled as I thought of Joffrey peacefully sleeping in his bed. He had fallen asleep in what? Five minutes? He probably dreamed of my pain.

The Hound reached to help me stand, but I pushed him away.

"No!" I squirmed. "I don't need help." Rolling on my side, I attempted to stand up. The back of my dress clung to me. Raising my head high, I began to take small, tentative steps toward the door.

"Stubborn," I heard The Hound mutter as he followed behind me.

Each step left me breathless and I braced myself against the cold stonewall of the hallway. The Hound's footsteps seemed labored, as if the pace I had set pained him. I raised my head a bit higher.

As I came to a fork in the corridor, I stopped, confused. I didn't even know the way back to my rooms.

"Left," The Hound whispered.

I peered at him sheepishly, whispered, "Thank you," and turned to the left.

As we walked down the hallways of the castle, servants passed us quietly. The smell of bread and the sound of voices floated in the air. Were we near the kitchens?

I looked at The Hound, "I don't believe this is the right way."

He only looked at me and motioned for me to keep going. With an exasperated sigh, I began walking once more.

The voices grew louder, and soon enough, I stood in the doorway of the kitchens, watching as girls near the fire cleaned pots and an older woman yelled for more flour. No one noticed me until The Hound stepped into the light.

One would think, the way the room quieted so quickly, that someone had just died.

The Hound spoke to the group, "this lady has not eaten today. Bring her something."

The older woman snapped twice and two girls rushed into another room. I looked back at the woman. Her white hair rested on top of her head in a knot and her dress was covered in flour. Her eyes, green and piercing, met mine. Then, I saw her eyes flash at The Hound.

"What are you doing with her, dog?"

"Getting her something to eat."

The woman continued to glare, expecting more of an answer. The Hound remained quiet.

The two girls reentered the room carrying a loaf of bread and a basket of fruit. They walked slowly up to me, only coming as close as needed, and ran away when I took the food from them.

The bread smelled delicious and my stomach rumbled.

"You have what you need, now leave." The older woman spat. "No need for the likes of you here, dog, scaring my girls and giving them nightmares with your scarred face. I even feel sorry for the lady you're escorting. What's your name, m'lady?"

I startled when I realized she had addressed me. "Myla," I croaked.

A fly buzzed near the window.

"Your house's name, m'lady?"

I cringed. "Don't have one, miss." At least, I didn't have one before coming to King's Landing.

"Then, how is it you are a lady here in King's Landing?"

I thought about how to answer that question. Certainly I could not tell these kitchen workers, who were employed by the Lannisters, the story of how Tywin Lannister's men found me one day and abducted me for the sole purpose of being Joffrey's play thing.

"She's the betrothed of Sir Gregor Clegane of the Knight's Watch."

The room burst into gasps and whispers. I frowned and looked at The Hound. What was he thinking? Why in the world would he tell them that? As if I wanted to be the talk of the entire castle.

"He'll kill her," someone whispered.

"What I heard was he waited until his last wife was with child and then took pleasure in ripping it out of her."

"No, I heard that his cock was too big for the last wife and he ended killing her by ripping her apart."

"Silence!" The old woman yelled. "Everyone, back to work, or I swear I'll whip the next person who talks!" She looked back at The Hound and me, "It's best that you both leave," and gave me one sad look before getting back to work.

Flustered, I turned and marched back down the hallway. The servants had brought my fears back. The Mountain would surely kill me, one way or another. Suddenly, I didn't feel hungry anymore. Instead, I felt angry. I turned abruptly around.

"Why would you tell them that?" I yelled at the tall man in front of me. "You had no right!"

The Hound just stared at me, unreadable. I searched his gray eyes for something, anything, but instead moved to looking at his right side. His right eye drooped as a result of his scar and his eyebrow was completely missing. Rough, untamed skin ran the length of his face, which he unsuccessfully tried to hide with brown, stringy hair.

"Gawking at the monster, are you?" He met my eyes.

"I . . . I don't think you are a monster." The words shocked even me.

The Hound scoffed, "I don't care what you think."

I frowned, "Then why does my gaze unsettle you?"

"Now you're just making me sound like a bloody woman." The Hound crossed his arms. "Gaze at me all you wish, girl, but I promise you, there are prettier things to look at."

"Beauty is a curse. I bet if I had a scar like yours, I wouldn't have been taken from my home and brought here. I wouldn't be tortured by a child or engaged to a real monster."

"Careful what you wish for, princess. Now, are you going to bloody eat your food?"

I frowned and looked at the bread, it still looked uninviting. My stomach lurched. "I'm not hungry."

"I don't give a rat's ass if you're hungry, princess. You'll eat."

I glared at him. "And if I don't?"

His gray eyes glared back at mine. "I'll stuff it down you're pretty little throat."

Angry, I looked once more at the bread. He wanted me to eat the entire loaf? With a sigh, I ripped the bread in half. "Fine," I acquiesced, "I'll eat if you eat."

I saw surprise flash across The Hound's face before his scowl returned. He took the half I held out to him and nodded. I waited.

"What?" He snapped.

I gave him a stern look. He sighed, growled, and then took a bite of the bread.

I smiled at him and then gracefully turned around to begin another painful walk. I did not miss, however, the relief in The Hound's eyes as he took the first bite. Like me, his dinner must have been disturbed by Joffrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: Please review and let me know how you are liking the story! I will be updating the story everyday on the weekend and then pausing on the weekdays.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note:** Please review and let me know what you think! I have made significant changes since the original posting.

* * *

The Hound patiently directed me to my room while we ate the remaining bread and fruit. As we arrived at my rooms, Sable appeared.

"M'lady! Are you alright? There is blood all over your dress!" She looked from The Hound to me, debating, probably, if he had hurt me.

"It's alright, Sable," I consoled her, "how about I tell you the story while we wash the blood off?"

"Yes, yes, that sounds good. I'll go fetch some hot water," she said before running off again.

I looked at The Hound. He had brought me safely to my rooms and thus was itching to leave. I gave him a questioning glance. He seemed to struggle with something, some internal monologue I could not guess. Was he really waiting for me to dismiss him?

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then shut it with a massive huff and walked away.

I shook my head, disappointed. At some points, it seems like The Hound and I could be friends, the gods knew I had no others, but then he goes and acts all huffy again. I decided to put it out of my mind.

I had other things to worry about. Like how I was going to escape a destined marriage to The Mountain.

Walking into my room, I decided to check out the window first. I didn't have the greatest of views, since I wasn't  _that_  important to the royal family. The view looked out onto the rooftops of King's Landing. The closest rooftop happened to be the garden house, and if I bend out the window, I could see the gardens. The distance between my room and the garden house was maybe one hundred feet—too much for me to jump. I looked down. It was too far of a fall to remain safe. Maybe—I looked at my bed—maybe I could create rope with my blankets.

Garden workers bustled back and forth carrying branches or dirt. One worker yelled something to another. I growled. There would be no way to climb out without being seen.

Sable entered the room again carrying two buckets of water. I scurried over to help her—the poor girl looked as if she would trip at any moment.

"Thank you, m'lady," Sable commented breathlessly, "It was hard getting this water, since tomorrow is the King's Name Day."

I groaned; I had forgotten about that. Joffrey no doubt would want me there.

"Let's get you undressed, m'lady, so that I can wash your wounds."

I let Sable undress me carefully. The blood had dried on the dress and stuck to me stubbornly. I cringed as she ripped it off. Stepping into the hot bath water felt nice though, and I was able to relax. My body felt a hundred years old.

"News has spread, m'lady, of your engagement to The Mountain."

I cursed. "How do things spread so quickly?"

"The kitchens know everything, m'lady; they are the center of gossip in the castle."

"Well, you can blame The Hound for that." I frowned. Tomorrow I'd have to go in front of all those people and act as if a marriage is a good thing. The Mountain would surely be there as well. Now that I thought of it, The Mountain must be in King's Landing for Joffrey's Name Day celebration. Last anyone heard from The Mountain, he was raiding villages in the Riverlands with the Lannister army.

Even though I wasn't bred for court intrigue, I still picked up on a few things. Things like the war in the North lead by Robb Stark. Once, I tried to talk to Sansa Stark, seeing as she was tortured by Joffrey just as much as I was, but Joffrey had forbidden our interaction. He didn't want a spark next to gasoline, I suppose.

"Why do you still call him that, m'lady?" Sable brought me out of my thoughts.

"Who?"

"Sir Sandor Clegane, m'lady. Why do you still call him 'The Hound'?"

Shocked, I looked at her. "I . . . I guess . . . I never . . ." Guilt flooded me. Why hadn't I stopped to think of his actual name? True enough, we never addressed each other by our names, but in my head he had always been 'The Hound.' He was known for his loyalty to Joffrey, killing or torturing anyone who the King saw fit—except for me. I heard the old woman's voice once more as she called him  _a dog_.

I cleared my throat, "Why do you care what I call him, Sable?"

My question met a long pause, then Sable answered. "Sir Sandor has never been unkind to me, m'lady. I've worked for him since my earliest days at Clegane Keep. Sir Sandor . . . he knew my mother."

"He  _knew_  your mother?"

"Yes, she died a few years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Sable."

"Sir Sandor took me in as his maid, and, despite what everyone thinks, is a kind master."

I looked away and relaxed more into the water. The Hound . . . I mean, Sandor, seemed like a two-faced coin. One side was a ruthless killer, loyal to Joffrey and his horrible antics. The other side, a man kind enough to protect orphaned girls. Even thinking about that side gave me shivers. I couldn't help but feel something off about his "kind side." Could I really trust it?

That night, after Sable had tucked me into bed and shut the door, I shuffled to the window. If I left at night, would I be seen? King's Landing sparkled with lit torches and the ground below me was no exception. Light covered most of the road between the garden house and my window. Occasionally a guard would walk past, but nothing like before.

I sighed, it was possible that I could climb down the window on my sheets and quickly hide in the green house. But then where? Farther back, I saw the castle outer gates. Those were what I needed to get past. Guards watched each gate carefully and would not let a young girl waltz out. Hm . . . Perhaps they would let a girl waltz out, if that young girl happened to be from the kitchens.

I looked at my door. So far, Joffrey had not ordered someone to watch it. I could sneak down to the kitchens feigning hunger. I shifted my back and felt pain shoot through me. I knew I needed rest in order to heal, but terror grasped at my heart when I remembered each day gone brought me closer to marriage.

Determined, I walked out my door and down the hall. I remembered vaguely the route The Hound—I mean Sandor—showed me earlier that day and I trailed my fingers along the stone. Wisps of wind touched my bare legs. Damn, I realized, I never changed out of my night gown. I stopped. If some guard were to find me, alone, looking like this, nothing would stop him from having his way with me. I sighed, better them than The Mountain, and continued walking.

Suddenly, I heard voices. Jumping into the shadows, I stopped and held my breath. One of the voices was The Hound's—damn it! I mean Sandor's.

"No way am I paying 100 fucking Gold Dragons." Sandor complained.

"This is dangerous business here. What you're asking, it's nearly impossible. We'd need the perfect timing, and, frankly, you aren't in a position to provide such a thing. However, I am in a position such as that, and if you want me to do your bidding, Clegane, you have to abide by my price and rules."

Sandor growled. "Fine, but if something goes wrong, Spider, I will fucking find you and I'll wring your neck until your face bleeds."

I put my hand on my neck, frowning. The Hound was planning something, and he'd be furious if he found me spying on him. Slowly backing up, I crept within shadows.

The Hound entered the hallways right as I rounded the corner. Holding my breath, I listened as his footsteps came closer to me. My heart pounded roughly in my chest. He'd find me, drag me out of the corner, and then who knows what. It is said that The Hound once released a butcher's boy into the forest and then rode him down for sheer pleasure.

His footsteps passed me loudly and echoed down the hall. I released my breath. I was safe. As I stepped back into the light, a face met mine.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The bald man looked me up and down.

Embarrassed, I covered my breasts with my arms.

"Oh, dear, there is no need to fear such a thing from me. My manhood was taken a long time ago, I'm afraid."

"You're Varys," I whispered, "the spy master for the King."

"Indeed I am. And you are Myla Reyne, or so King Joffrey and the Mother Regent claim."

"They lie," I snapped.

"Do they? It wouldn't be the first time a major house was resurrected based from a lie. Do you not believe them, child?" He placed his hands behind his back.

I growled, "Joffrey and Cersei just use that as an excuse to keep me here to be Joffrey's toy. My parents were merchants from Faircastle Island."

"Yes," he paused, "and my parents were the King and Queen of Essos."

I glared at him, "Essos has no King or Queen, only slave masters."

He looked at me curiously. "I can see why Clegane has taken an interest in you."

"Why? Because I'm an orphan?" I snapped.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "That would be an interesting story, wouldn't it? One of the best killers in the Seven Kingdoms has a soft spot for orphans. Unfortunately, no, I'm afraid the world is much crueler than that." He began to walk away from me. "The kitchens are past the barracks, I'm afraid. Try and avoid trouble for the time, dearie, it would make all our jobs a lot easier."

I glared at Varys' back. Past the barracks, he had said. I cursed under my breath. There would be no way to reach the kitchens without guards seeing me. Defeated, I began to walk back to my room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic language that may trigger distressing emotions or memories

That night, after Sable had tucked me into bed and shut the door, I shuffled to the window. If I left at night, would I be seen? King's Landing sparkled with lit torches and the ground below me was no exception. Light covered most of the road between the garden sheds and my window. Occasionally a guard would walk past, but nothing like the bustling of workers before.

I sighed, it was possible that I could climb down the window on my sheets and quickly hide in the green house. But then where? Farther back, I saw the castle outer gates. Those were what I needed to get past. Guards watched each gate carefully and would not let a young girl waltz out. Hm . . . Perhaps they would let a girl waltz out, if that young girl happened to be from the kitchens.

I looked at my door. So far, Joffrey had not ordered someone to watch it. I could sneak down to the kitchens feigning hunger. I shifted my back and felt pain shoot through me. I knew I needed rest in order to heal, but terror grasped at my heart when I remembered each day gone brought me closer to marriage.

Determined, I walked out my door and down the hall. I remembered vaguely the route The Hound showed me earlier that day and I trailed my fingers along the stone. Wisps of wind touched my bare legs. Damn, I realized, I never changed out of my nightgown. I stopped. If some guard were to find me, alone, looking like this, nothing would stop him from having his way with me. I sighed, better them than The Mountain, and continued walking.

Suddenly, I heard voices. Jumping into the shadows, I stopped and held my breath. One of the voices was The Hound's.

"No way am I paying 100 fucking Gold Dragons." The Hound complained.

"This is dangerous business here. What you're asking, it's nearly impossible. We'd need the perfect timing, and, frankly, you aren't in a position to provide such a thing. However, I am in a position such as that, and if you want me to do your bidding, Clegane, you have to abide by my price and rules."

The Hound growled. "Fine, but if something goes wrong, Spider, I will fucking find you and I'll wring your neck until your face bleeds."

I put my hand on my neck, frowning. The Hound was planning something, and he'd be furious if he found me spying on him. Slowly backing up, I crept within shadows.

The Hound entered the hallways right as I rounded the corner. Holding my breath, I listened as his footsteps came closer to me. My heart pounded roughly in my chest. He'd find me, drag me out of the corner, and then who knows what. Bring me to Joffrey? To his brother? It is said that The Hound once released a butcher's boy into the forest and then rode him down for sheer pleasure.

His footsteps passed me loudly and echoed down the hall. I released my breath. I was safe. As I stepped back into the light, a face met mine.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The bald man looked me up and down.

Embarrassed, I covered my breasts with my arms.

"Oh, dear, there is no need to fear such a thing from me. My manhood was taken a long time ago, I'm afraid."

"You're Varys," I whispered, "the spy master for the King."

"Indeed I am. And you are Myla Reyne, or so King Joffrey and the Mother Regent claim."

"They lie," I snapped.

"Do they? It wouldn't be the first time a major house was resurrected based from a lie. Do you not believe them, child?" He placed his hands behind his back.

"My parents were merchants from Faircastle Island."

"Yes," he paused, "and my parents were the King and Queen of Essos."

I glared at him, "Essos has no King or Queen, only slave masters."

He looked at me curiously. "I can see why Clegane has taken an interest in you."

"Why? Because I'm an orphan?" I snapped.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "That would be an interesting story, wouldn't it? One of the best killers in the Seven Kingdoms has a soft spot for orphans. Unfortunately, no, I'm afraid the world is much crueler than that." He began to walk away from me. "The kitchens are past the barracks, I'm afraid. Try and avoid trouble for the time, dearie, it would make all our jobs a lot easier."

I glared at Varys' back. Past the barracks, he had said. I cursed under my breath. There would be no way to reach the kitchens without guards seeing me. Defeated, I began to walk back to my room.

Sable entered quietly in the morning, pushed my curtains open, and allowed light to stream into my room.

I groaned, tired from last night's adventure.

"The King's Name Day celebration will begin within the hour, m'lady. We must make you look presentable. It is said that today the King will announce your marriage."

Fuck. Of course, Joffrey would announce it then, he will expect The Mountain to give a gift in return. Probably some poor dead man. I cringed. The longer I stayed, the more I was in danger.

As Sable applied ointment to my back, she commented, "You are healing quite well, m'lady."

"Not fast enough," I grumbled.

"You must be patient, m'lady. It has only been a couple of days."

She worked quickly and eventually had a red dress on my body. She took deliberate slowness, however, in working my hair into a multitude of braids and curls. When she was done, she turned me toward the mirror.

"You look so beautiful, m'lady."

I glanced quickly into the mirror, only seeing a flash of red and yellow, before looking back at the ground. I hated my reflection. It only reminded me how much things had changed within the last year.

One day, I'm helping my father bring in honey and carpets from the market. The smell of perfume wafting from his robes. My mother smiling at us from our cottage. And the next, I watch as Lannister men cut down my father and mother—blood staining my father's favorite furniture—grab me and take me to this hideous castle to be tortured by a child.

All because I resemble members of the Reyne family. Cersei had told me once that my eyes, the eyes of a Reyne, were unmistakable.

A knock came from the door and a young squire stepped in. I almost expected it to be The Hound. My mind drifted off to the conversation The Hound had with Varys last night. What "perfect timing" did he need? Although I did not hear The Hound mention me, I had an ache at the bottom of my stomach.

The squire walked me down through the corridors towards the east wing. Light streamed in front of us as he brought me onto the veranda facing the Narrow Sea. There was a shaded area, where all the important people sat, and then hundreds of guards and soldiers stood on the edges. In the middle of the veranda was a hole leading to another barracks.

"Kill him, dog!" Joffrey squealed, "That's right! Hit him harder!"

I looked over to see The Hound beating some man in a fight. Sandor Clegane truly was a great fighter. He had skill, movement, strength—everything a knight needed. Yet he had always refused being knighted.

I remember my mother telling me bedtime stories of knights. A strong man in armor would come and save a princess from harm. I always wished that someday I'd meet my own knight and he would take me away from Faircastle Island. How stupid I had been.

The Hound pushed the man into the hole, a fall he would not survive. Joffrey cheered and congratulated his dog. I looked away.

The squire led me to Joffrey's shaded sitting area, bowed to the King, and left me standing there. I could feel The Hound's cold eyes on my back.

"Ah, there you are! So good of you to join us. Please," Joffrey said, "sit down and enjoy the fights."

I sat down next to Sansa Stark, praying this celebration would pass without incident.

It did not.

The Mountain came into view, stomping ungracefully towards us. Joffrey stood up.

"Sir Gregor! Perfect timing." Joffrey looked at me and waved expectantly. I looked at him in confusion. "Oh, come on, you idiot." He said to me, "Stand next to your intended."

I stood up slowly, still in pain, and walked cautiously over to The Mountain.

"Men, I have news to share with you today that makes me quite happy. I have seen it fit to marry Sir Gregor of House Clegane to Lady Myla of House Reyne. Yes, yes, most of you are probably wondering who she is. Everyone should know the tales of her house-a great Lannister victory, but if not, well, I have a storyteller here who will give us the tale along with a little fun!"

I squirmed next to the The Mountain; I was sick of hearing the story of this family.

"Once," began a storyteller to my left, "there were two great houses in the Westlands. The Lannisters, house of our very own Queen Regent, and the Reynes. House Reyne boasted their wealth, second to the Lannisters, and decided one day that they would rebel against their protectors."

The crowd gasped animatedly.

"Robert Reyne rebelled against Tytos Lannister, hoping to claim the title of Warden of the West for himself. However, Tywin Lannister, as strong and capable as ever, rod to their castle to prove that the Lannisters were the rightful wardens!"

I quit listening. I thought of my mother and father, peaceful merchants on Faircastle Island. My father, gray-haired, would laugh at almost everything. My mother, silent and calm, always experimented with the different spices father would bring home. When I was "old enough," they promised to tell me why I had golden hair, and they did not. Apparently, "old enough" to them meant never. I figured it out, however. I had been adopted.

It didn't bother me though. I was a happy child in the midst of a safe family. Once, my brother had asked me why I didn't care to know my "real" parents. I had told him that my "real" parents were the ones who fed me and protected me. What did I care about a mother who had seen fit to give me up? Or a father who probably just impregnated my mother and then saw his job as finished?

If what the Lannisters said was true, that I was a descendant of the Reyne family, I didn't give two fucks. They did not raise me. They were not my family.

I heard the crowd gasp again, and I brought my attention back to the storyteller. He had just finished from the likes of it.

Joffrey once again addressed his audience, "So you see, I have seen fit to give the last remaining Reyne to Sir Gregor Clegane!" He looked at The Mountain. "Go on, give her a kiss!"

The Mountain grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my face to his. I squirmed, flashbacks of Joffrey's torture appeared. He jabbed his tongue into my mouth-something Joffrey had never done. Furious, I chomped my teeth down as hard as I could. I tasted his blood.

He pulled away, eyes flashing with anger. I felt his blow only after I had hit the ground, the world spinning frantically. I heard Joffrey laughing. When I opened my eyes, I saw The Mountain towering over me, drinking in the cheers of the other knights.

"Get up," he sneered.

I glared once more, picking myself up. He grabbed my arm and squeezed. "Do that again and I will see to it that you live a long painful life. You may not be afraid of death, but there are worse things than death, my future wife, such as how I'm going to ram my cock inside of you until you split open."

He released me, and then pushed me toward Joffrey's tent. I looked at the faces of Sansa Stark, pity lining her face, and Joffrey, smiling as happy as ever. Then, I looked at The Hound.

He had done what he was best at: watching. Hadn't it only been yesterday that he had stepped between his brother and me? I suddenly felt cold. His "protection" had run its course. I felt so stupid; he didn't care about me. Why had I ever thought he did?

"Sit." Joffrey commanded.

I limped to my chair, trying to hold my face high, and sat down.

I needed to escape—soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Back in my rooms, Sable held a wet cloth to my face.

"You're going to have a nasty bruise, m'lady."

Silence drifted between us. Why did she see fit to tell me something I already knew? It's not like I cared about a bruise anyways when my body already had so many scars.

"Don't let them break you, m'lady."

I looked into her eyes, then, surprised. "What would you know about torture? You're what thirteen? Unless you're lying when you say The Hound is a good master."

"I'm not lying. Sir Sandor gave me a home. I will not forget it." She paused. "I had a sister, m'lady. She . . . she was the first wife of Sir Gregor."

"What?" I looked at her incredulously.

"When I was very young, maybe five or six, my older sister was married to Sir Gregor. She was a lot like you, m'lady: strong and brave. She would visit me, in Sir Sandor's wing of the keep, and each time she had a new mark on her body. She tried to cover it up, but I knew what was going on. Sir Gregor would hurt her.

"One day, she came to visit and her belly was bigger than usual. She . . . she changed after that. The bravery, the spark, it had left her eyes. She did not want the monster's child. The next thing I knew, the kitchen was gossiping about how she had hung herself."

My heart sank. Was that my future? How many more years could I endure of this?

"Sir Gregor had broken her, m'lady." Her brown eyes met mine. "I do not wish that fate on you."

"I don't know how to stop it, Sable. Fighting only gets me hurt."

"You can escape, m'lady. I have connections here in the castle. I can help you."

"Joffrey'll search for me, Sable. He's not about to just let me go. I wouldn't even be that surprised if The Mountain and Joffrey tortured me together." I could feel my fight already draining from me.

"Not if you cross the Narrow Sea."

I looked up at her, she really was crazy.

"If we can book you passage –"

A pounding came from the door. "Open up, princess," The Hound commanded, "we need to talk."

Sable rushed to the door without my permission. The Hound was the last person I wanted to speak to at the moment.

"Sable, leave us." I could hear the anger in his voice. She curtsied and walked out the door. I glared. Her loyalty to The Hound would always trump any loyalty to me. Maybe she wasn't someone I should trust.

The Hound shut the door and stomped toward me. I stood up, ready for a fight. He stopped only inches away from my face.

"Bloody hells, woman! Why do you insist on getting yourself hurt?" His eyes landed on my black and blue chin.

"As if you care! I bet you sleep peacefully at night, dreaming of my pain!"

The Hound growled, "Joffrey employs me, pays me, gives me a place to live. Do you want to get me fucking killed to?"

"Oh boo-hoo your life would have been ruined by protecting an innocent lady!" I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "I once saw you jump in between your brother and Loras Tywell! Apparently I am not worthy enough for the same treatment!"

He met my glare equally. His breathing was ragged and angered. He looked like his brother.

Fear swept over me.

He continued to yell, "Protecting you isn't my job! If you haven't noticed, I'm not your fucking knight-in-shining armor!"

He stepped closer to me, I could feel the heat radiating off him. I flinched, cowering. I had had enough pain for the day. When the blow didn't come, I tentatively looked up.

His eyes flashed with shock, hurt, and then settled on cold anger once more. He continued moving toward me, slowly this time, and grabbed the cask of wine on the desk at my back. Taking a giant gulp, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"That's what you think of me then, princess?" His voice quieted, "An extension of my brother, ready at any moment to hit young girls? I may stand there as Joffrey does his bidding, but I've never hurt you."

"You allow it to happen, and in my mind, that's just as bad."

The Hound turned his back to me and marched out of the room, taking the cask of wine with him.

Had my words gotten to him? I doubt it. Soon enough Joffrey would summon me to his chambers once more and The Hound would stand there lifeless.

I crumpled to the floor, tears running down my cheeks. Maybe it would be better if I were dead.

Suddenly, a knock came from the door. I wiped my eyes and looked at the door quizzically. Sable would have come in without knocking, and The Hound would have pounded.

A voice whispered past the door. "Myla? It's Sansa, could I come in?"

Sansa? Had Joffrey allowed her to come? "Come in," I replied while standing up and wiping my nose on my sleeve.

Sansa walked in and shut the door behind her. "How are you?"

"Fine," I replied.

"Beg your pardon, but you don't seem fine."

"What do you care, Sansa? Joffrey leaves you alone most of the time now."

"I care! I just haven't come to see you much because . . . well because you know my father was just . . . and my brother and mother are . . . there's just been a lot going on. I miss home."

I rolled my eyes. Did she come just to complain about her life? "Sansa," I changed the subject, "can you tell me about my fall?"

"You don't remember?" She stared at me.

"No, that's why I'm asking. I know it was through my own window, but for some reason I also remember you being in my room."

"Oh, well that is because I was here." She looked sheepish, "Except, you didn't jump out of your window until after I had left. I'm . . . I'm sorry I didn't stay longer. Maybe if I had you wouldn't have tried . . ."

"I didn't try to kill myself!" The more I said it, the more I hoped it to be true. I flexed my hands. "Why were you here that day?"

She looked upset. "Joffrey had just embarrassed me at court, you don't remember? He almost had me beaten in front of everyone. But then Lord Tyrion stopped it. Afterward I was crying and you brought me here to calm down."

"And, we just talked?"

"Yes, you held me while I cried, and then you brushed my hair."

"That's it?"

"That's all. I can't really remember what we talked about. I was too busy thinking of my family."

I shook my head. Sansa had been too entrenched in her own mind to have picked up on any sign of despair from me. If I had been considering killing myself, which I refuse to believe, I certainly hid it well.

"Well, I just wanted to check in," Sansa said, "I better get going now before someone comes to find me." She locked eyes with me, "I couldn't bear it if you killed yourself, Myla. You're a good friend to me."

I nodded, unsure how to respond. Sure, Sansa had come to see how I was doing, but it was clear she only worried about herself.

"Good day," Sansa said as she shut the door.

I laid down on my bed, exhausted from the emotions of the day, and it wasn't even noon yet! I began to close my eyes. Maybe I'll just rest for a little bit.

I woke abruptly to a loud pounding. I was engulfed in darkness. What time was it? The pounding came again, startling me. Someone was at the door.

I slouched out of bed sluggishly, sweat covering my body. I couldn't remember the nightmare I had had, but it weighed on me nonetheless.

Opening the door, I saw The Hound's scowl with the light in the hallway. His eyes were red and his breath smelled of ale. Was he drunk?

"What do you want?" I growled.

He leaned toward me, lowering his face down to mine. "I'm sorry."

"You're what?" I exclaimed as he leaned farther into me, using me as a cane to stay standing. The pressure of his weight was unbearable, and I eventually toppled to the ground. I groaned from the pain in my back and tried to push him off, but his body pinned me to the ground. "Get off!" I cried.

The Hound mumbled. Unsure of what was happening. He lifted himself up and then sat back on his butt. Free, I crawled away from him and stood up. At some point, my door had been closed and we were both enveloped in darkness.

"Why the hell are you here?" I yelled toward him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he drunkenly stood up. "I'm sorry," his silhouette swayed towards me, "I pushed you."

"Pushed me? No, you just fell on me! You've probably reopened my wounds too! Is that what you wanted?"

The shadow continued to come towards me. Frightened, I backed up, trying to stay out of his reach, but eventually I felt the balcony railing at my back. There was no where else to go. He reached out his arms and placed them on my shoulders.

"I pushed you," he said again. "I just wanted it to stop. I couldn't bear the way you looked at me when . . . the little shit . . . would . . . So I tried to stop it by . . . I pushed you."

I stared at the darkness, dazed. Was I hearing him right? He . . . he pushed me out the window? He tried to kill me?

His shoulder shook as he pulled me into a hug. I didn't know what to do, so I remained still. I could feel his cheek rest on the top of my head and his tears drip down my hair.

Honestly, I couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged me. Maybe my mom the day before she was killed? I hadn't realized how much I yearned for human contact. Slowly, I wrapped my arms around him. I could feel the muscles in his back, and I could hear the thumping of his heart.

Who knew The Hound actually had a heart? I thought.

The Hound was the first to break our embrace. I wasn't sure of how long we had stood there, holding each other, but I felt cold the moment he moved away from me.

Stepping back, he looked at me sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he said before storming out of the room.

All I could do was stand there in shock as my thoughts buzzed around me. He had tried to kill me. He pushed me off the balcony. He thought he was helping me. He thought it was what I wanted, to be without pain anymore, without Joffrey's torture.

Well, he wasn't entirely wrong. I did hope someday to be free-just not in that way. I hoped someday to go home, back to Faircastle Island, back to the ocean, back to my family. Although my mother and father had been killed, my brother had escaped the Lannisters. He was still out there. I had to stay alive, for him.

Crawling into bed, I willed myself to dream about my brother, sailing the seas, like we always talked about.


	7. Chapter 7

Surprisingly, the next few weeks passed without incident: Joffrey did not demand to see me, The Mountain had been called away from King's Landing to Harrenhal, and The Hound steered clear of my room.

The only person I interacted with was Sable. She continued to plan an escape for me, and I did not correct her. Some days she would be gone for hours at a time, explaining that she was meeting with her contacts. I remained unconvinced, though I hid it from her, that placing trust in her was a good thing. She was loyal to The Hound first and foremost, and he had made it clear that his protection had ended.

While Sable met with her contacts, I plotted my own escape. In a way, I welcomed Sable's plan, because it would confuse people later when I had actually left. So far my plan consisted of climbing down the window, running through the gardeners' cottages, and slipping through the castle gates as a kitchen girl. I was just waiting for the perfect moment.

One day, I was invited to have dinner with Joffrey's Uncle, Tyrion Lannister, The Hand of the King. The mention of another Lannister made me cringe, however, I could not refuse the invite.

Tyrion Lannister had mismatching eyes that saw through me too well. We met in his quarters, a small apartment at the top of the Tower of the Hand. Most people said this tower was cursed, since most of the Hands in history never faired well. Tyrion didn't seem to mind.

"They call you Lady Myla Reyne," Tyrion commented after the formalities had been said. I liked a man who got to the point.

"They do, sir, but I do not agree with them."

"And why is that? My sister Cersei swears by your pretty Reyne face. She is always right, remember." His tone was playful. I wasn't sure what to do with it. I could play his game, surely, without trusting him, couldn't I?

"I never knew any Reynes, my lord. Just my family on Faircastle Island."

"Indeed, it would certainly be strange if you were truly from that great house, seeing as they were massacred before you were even a babe. How old are you, dear?"

"Eighteen, your grace, as of last month."

"So young, so full of possibilities," he said, "tell me, if you weren't here, what would be doing?"

I thought for a moment. If I wasn't here? "I'd be a merchant, like my father. I always loved traveling by sea and seeing the markets of new places."

"And your father taught you this trade?"

"He did. Before the Lannisters . . . " I held my tongue. I was talking with a Lannister! How could I have forgotten?

"No need to fear me, Myla. I know my family is far from perfect."

"Before I was taken, sir, my father taught me how to buy and sell. He was planning on giving me a part of his caravans when I turned eighteen."

"So you like to travel. Good." He leaned closer to me. "Do you want to leave here, sweet girl? Stannis Baratheon is close to our gates, and once he attacks, I would hate to see you another prisoner of war."

I looked at him, shocked. Could I truly leave here? He was the Hand of the King after all-and the brother of Cersei. My shoulders sank. I could not trust him, he was a Lannister.

I responded, "I am intended to marry Sir Gregor Clegane, my lord. I could not leave unless he wished it."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Of course, of course. Well, I do believe I enjoyed our little dinner. Might I call upon you again some time?"

"If my lord wishes," I replied, the flicker of hope he had lit died.

Finally, after weeks of waiting, Stannis Baratheon came to attack the city walls, just as Tyrion had said. Bells rang out across the city. Servants ran up and down the hallways. Chaos began to ensue. I knew this was my chance.

I yelled to one servant running past my rooms, "What's the news?"

"Stannis Baratheon's men are coming towards us m'lady. The Queen Regent has commanded that all ladies and their handmaidens hide in her chambers. Do you need an escort there?"

"No, thank you. My handmaiden and I will go shortly."

"Do hurry, m'lady." The servant curtsied and continued on her errands frantically.

Sable was off who knows where at the moment, but no doubt she would return for me soon. I had to work fast. Quickly, I wrote a note to her, explaining how I had gone to Cersei's rooms without her and that she should meet me there. I posted it on the outside of the door, and then barred the door from the inside. If she had known I planned to deceive her, she would have never let me out of her sight.

I felt a pang of guilt, thinking about how helpful she had been to me since the whipping, but I shrugged my shoulders. I needed to escape, without anyone's help, if I was going to succeed in disappearing.

I got to work tying my dresses and blankets into a long rope. Looking out the window, I saw no one walking the road below. All the guards had been called to Blackwater Rush.

Throwing my makeshift rope out the window, the anchor being my bed, I carefully swung one leg out the window. Thankfully enough time had passed for my wounds to heal properly and I was able to maneuver my body out the window.

I looked down at the ground, fearfully. Why was it that it seemed farther away now than it did in my room? My knuckles began to turn blue, I was holding the blankets so hard. Taking a few breathes, I kept my eyes closed and slowly lowered myself. Every few movements, I peeked at how far the ground was. Just a little more. Keep moving.

Suddenly, I felt my feet run out of rope. Opening both my eyes, I stared incredulously downward. I hung about ten feet off the ground. Damn. The stupid rope wasn't long enough. I'd have to jump the rest of the way.

Letting go, I felt my stomach lurch as gravity shot me to the ground. My ankles rippled from the shock and I fell onto my knees. My right ankle throbbed painfully. Great, I grumbled.

Nevertheless, I stood up and began walking toward the gardeners' houses. I tried to walk as normal as possible, but my ankle rebelled. Each step just created more pain. I reached the gate without any fuss. Looking around, I found it somewhat alarming that no guards were in sight. If I strained, I could hear the murmurs of the battle raging at Blackwater Rush.

The Hound's face flashed through my mind. I frowned as I thought of him fighting, blood all over his body. Despite our arguments, he almost had become a friend.

Shaking my thoughts free, I left my hiding place and began limping towards the gate once more. I pushed open the heavy door and prepared myself for a fight or any type of resistance. None came. Before me laid more houses, muddy roads, and, farther beyond, the city walls.

Setting my eyes on the city walls, I began walking.

A hand covered my mouth, rough and bloody. I kicked and screamed, but the person still dragged me toward a carriage. Throwing me in the back, a strange man slammed the iron door. I looked frantically around. Iron bars served as walls. The smell of blood accosted my nose. This was a jail carriage.

"Such a nice prize for my master," the man sneered, "you know him don't you-your intended. He knew you'd try to escape at some point. I figured it would be now. Master will be so pleased."

The man jumped on the front of the carriage and it jerked forward. My heart went cold. He worked for The Mountain. Would he take me to him at Harrenhal? It was a warzone out there! No one would know where I was. No one would come for me.

"Sandor!" I screamed, "Sandor!" I pulled at the bars. I must have looked like a mad animal.

The carriage drove off without resistance.

"Where is she, you lying cunt!"

"I assure you, Clegane, this was not my intention."

"If you want to extend your miserable life, you will tell me where she is!" Sandor's hand wrapped tighter around Varys' neck.

Varys chocked, "She . . . she was last seen with your brother . . . exiting the city."

Sandor growled like an animal, "Which direction?"

"West," Varys croaked.

Releasing his grip, Sandor pulled away from Varys. "How did you let this happen? You were supposed to keep her safe until I could get her out!"

Varys gasped for air. "The girl was protected . . . however, my little birds didn't expect her to escape on her own. It seems we underestimated Myla."

Sandor made fists with his hands, anger seething within him.

"Your brother will take her to Clegane's Keep." He looked cautiously at Sandor. "She won't last long there," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Then I'll kill my brother, slowly and painfully. Maybe shove his fucking face into a fire." Sandor turned to leave.

Varys called after him, "your attachment to the girl will be your downfall, Clegane."

Sandor continued walking, "go shove your prophecies up someone else's fucking ass!"

Sandor stomped down the corridor of the castle. Blood covered his armor and sword. The battle still raged outside the walls, but he had had enough of fighting for a coward king. The fight had been sucked out from him.

Myla's face crossed his mind, unwelcome. He hadn't protected her. She was now in the hands of his brother—cruel, hurtful hands. If he had to choose between protecting her from his brother and the little shit of a king, with his entire army in Westeros, he would pick Westeros.

"Sir Clegane!"

Sandor turned, there was only one person who called him "sir" despite his hatred for the term.

Sable ran toward him, "Sir, I'm so sorry! I don't know where Lady Myla is." The girl sobbed. "I went down to the Queen Regent's quarters, but she wasn't there. She never made it . . . What if . . ." she sniffed, "What if The Mountain took her?"

With pity, Sandor looked at this tiny, crying girl. He knew what had happened to the girl's sister, Jeyne. In fact, he spent most of his life trying to forget about it. Better to come right out with it, then.

"He did. My brother has Myla," he paused, "She'll be dead before we can get to her, so you might as well go find another mistress." Once more he began walking down the hall.

Sable remained frozen. What had he just said? She's already been taken? She'll be dead? Sable's mind brought up a picture of her sister, dangling dead from the kitchen beams.

"No," Sable forcefully yelled after Sandor.

He didn't stop.

Sable ran after him. "So that's it? You're just going to give up? You're going to cower here in the castle while she's fighting for her life?"

He kept walking.

"Fine!" she yelled at him, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised after you gave my sister up!"

Sandor stopped, his back still to Sable. "Leave the past in the past, girl."

"Myla isn't in the past!"

Turning to face Sable, Sandor explains, "I understand how the world works. You best learn fast or you could end up like them." He continued walking.

Sable stood there as Sandor's shadow disappeared down the hall. First her sister, now Myla. How many would The Mountain take? The answer came to her: more. The Mountain would continue to take more and more victims unless he was stopped. Yes, he had to be stopped-and that is what she resolved to do. She would stop The Mountain. She would kill him.

Setting off in a run, she passed Sandor. Slightly slowing down, she yelled at him, "You can pout like the shit-faced baby you are! I'm going to save Myla! Then, I'll kill your brother!"

Sandor growled, "Like hell you are! Sable get back here!"

Sable disappeared behind a corner. Her laughter bouncing off the walls.

Cursing under his breath, Sandor set out to follow her. The girl had spunk—it would get her killed.

The sun had just started coming up behind them when Sandor decided to wake Sable. She had fallen asleep while leaning on his chest. A gesture which made him feel soft.

Sandor had found her in the kitchens, grabbing anything she could for the journey. He didn't say anything to her, only started to fill his own bag. She didn't outwardly acknowledge his change of heart, and he was grateful for it.

However, nothing could shake the image in his head of Myla's dead body. He knew what he would find in Clegane's Keep, his old home. If the girl wanted to have hope, fine, but he would not be a fucking idiot. He knew firsthand what his brother did to girls.


	8. Chapter 8

Sable finally opened her eyes and yawned.

"We can't keep riding the horse like this." Sandor explained, "We need to give it a rest."

"How far until Clegane's Keep?"

"A week and a couple of days, if we are lucky. My brother will not stop. He's probably switching horses along the way."

"Then why are we stopping?" Sable whined.

"Because, despite what shit everyone else has heard, I am not cruel to animals."

They walked for what seemed to be hours. The countryside rolled past them in fields and patches of forests. They passed a few inns, but never considered stopping. To Sandor's surprise, Sable's spirit did not lessen. It reminded him of Jeyne.

Growling, Sandor shook away the memory.

"What's wrong?" Sable questioned.

"Nothing . . . we should stop here for the night."

"But . . . Sir . . . the more we stop, the less chance of finding Myla—"

"I said we will stop here for the night."

Sable looked at the inn before them. The Wayward Wonderer—it looked decent enough. "Do you really think staying at an inn is best? You will be recognized."

Sandor considered this for a moment. If they were to get to Clegane's Keep undetected, the girl was right. "Fuck," Sandor whispered. Louder, he replied, "Fine. We will camp in that patch of trees there. But you need to go inside and buy us some water and some food for the horse."

"Won't they ask where my parents are?"

"Tell them to mind their fucking business and take the money. I'll meet you at the camp site. If something goes wrong, scream."

Sable glared at Sandor. As if she would be so vulgar to strangers. When he disappeared into the woods, Sable went inside.

The main hall was lit with wall sconces too dim to keep away the shadows. Some men drank at a table near the fire. A woman wiped down the bar.

"Excuse me, m'lady, I'd like to fill my water sacks. And could I have some horse feed?"

The woman looked at her skeptically. "I ain't no lady, girl. Call me Bev." She took the water sacks and began filling them. "What brings you out here, girl?"

"Just passing through . . . Bev."

The men at the stable stirred, sensing the tension. Each one of them stared at Sable menacingly. Sandor had thrown a doe to wolves. Standing up, the group sauntered over, obviously drunk.

Bev noticed their movement and growled, "Don't you dirty pricks think of bothering this here girl. Don't you forget I can still call Old Todrick."

"Ah, Bev . . . we's only want to says 'ello to the gurl"

"Yeaaahh, no needs to wake up Old Tod."

"What's a nice girl doing out on her anyways?" The leader of the group looked at Sable with keen eyes.

"I'm not alone," Sable declared, "and I don't want any trouble."

The leader held out his hand to the men, "here that boys, she don't want any trouble. We best be on our way now." His men grumbled and whined at him as they all, surprisingly followed their leader out the door.

Sable let out the breath she was holding.

"That was close, girl," Bev commented, "from now on make sure your father or escort or whatever comes in with 'ya." She handed over to Sable the filled water sacks and bowl of feed. "You best be gettin' on now. It'll be dark soon."

"Thank you, m'lady . . . eh . . . Bev."

Walking out of the inn, Sable cautiously looked around for the drunk men. Had they seen Sandor on their way out? Would they follow them? The thoughts worsened as Sable marched into the woods that Sandor had pointed out. What if they come out from behind a tree? What if Sandor left me?

A twig snapped behind her. Jumping, Sable nearly dropped the feed for the horse.

"Calm down, girl, it's just me," Sandor's deep, raspy voice growled.

Sable turned around, shoved the water sacks and feed into Sandor's arms and yelled, "How could you let me go in all by myself! They could have . . . You didn't see their faces . . ."

"Rape you? Hurt you?" Sandor growled back, "Yeah, they could have. But they didn't. Count your blessings, girl."

"Blessings? You think I should be grateful that I'm out in the woods with a prick who only cares for himself?"

Sandor cocked his head, curiously. Obviously the days of "sirs" had disappeared—though "sir" was worse than any profanity. Sable was starting to act like Myla—headstrong—and he didn't like it. "Yes, be grateful that you are here, alive." He growled. "That's more than your sister or Myla." Sandor pointed to the fire where a rat was being cooked. "Light the fire," he demanded.

Sable looked over at the fire pit, logs and foliage ready to be lit. "And why can't you do it?" He shifted, scowling. Sable watched him curiously, then focused in on his face. "Oh," she whispered, "Sorry." She knew Sandor's greatest fear was fire, and she didn't have the heart to make him face it.

As she smelled the charred skin on the rat cook, Sable's spirit completely drained out. She hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours and her stomach twisted.

They ate in silence. Sandor sat away from the fire, next to a large tree, chewing loudly. Sable watched him tear at the meat and examined his scarred face. Stringy hair blew softly in the wind. Frown lines riddled his cheeks. Sable noted that she'd never seen Sandor smile.

"Quit your staring, girl."

Sable started, "sorry."

"We set out at first light. Get some rest."

Laying on the blanket next to the fire, Sable stared up into the night sky. Dark foliage spotted her view, but a few stars could be seen.

"Do you . . ." Sable cleared her throat, "Do you think we will catch them before . . ."

Sandor didn't need to ask who Sable was referring too. His brother had taken Myla close to the start of the battle at King's Landing. He had gotten at least a seven hour start. Even then, as he told Sable before, Gregor would not stop along the way—except maybe to . . . Sandor stopped that train of thought.

Sandor heard Myla's screams from behind a barred door—Gregor's night chamber. He recognized the door quickly. After all, Sandor had grown up tip-toeing past this door every day of his life. Tonight, however, Sandor did not continue past the door. He stopped and listened to the screams and cries. Each sound ripped his heart into pieces.

"Sandor! What are you doing?"

"Mother?" Sandor jumped away from the door. "Mother, I cannot stand idly back as Gregor hurts her!"

"My poor, hideous boy. She does not belong to you. She never has."

"I love her!"

"As if that makes a difference. Go find your own wench to bed, Sandor."

"Don't call her that!"

Sandor drew his weapon and knocked down the door. Shocked, he found himself in the kitchens, staring at the body of a woman who had hung herself.

Quickly, Sandor grabbed his dagger and held it out in front of him. He hadn't had that dream in a while. Why did it revisit him now? Sandor shook his head, he knew the answer.

Standing up, he stretched and evaluated his body. Looking over at Sable, she slept by the fire, calmly. Nightmares did not curse her. He looked around for something to occupy himself with. He had to keep his mind from those horrible dreams.

The horse, woken up by Sandor's steps, looked calmly at him. Sandor could feel this calm seeping over him as well as he stroked the horse's neck.

"We will have to ride you hard again today, friend." Sandor said solemnly. "I just hope it's not for nothing."

The horse looked at him through one eye, not caring for his words, only for his soft touch. Sandor had always had an affinity with horses. They never cared about his scarred face or rough manner. As long as you took good care of them, they would love you.

"If we get into a battle, you run as fast as you can away, alright?" Sandor then lowered his voice, "I'm a walking target. Those closest to me always get hurt."

The next day, Sandor and Sable continued down the Gold Road. Unfortunately, with Sandor now being a deserter, they had to either duck into patches of trees or hide Sandor's face. One such day, in a prairie, two men came upon them. The men rode quickly toward them, making dust from the road fly into the air.

"Sable, off the road," Sandor yelled, "Hopefully they will just pass us."

When Sable and he walked off the road, Sandor bent down to inspect the horse's hoofs—like they had planned.

The men slowed as they approached Sable. "Need any help there, man?" the leader asked.

"My father," Sable replied, "he's deaf. But no worries, we are only stopping to check the horse's hoofs. Thank you for your concern."

The leader looked from Sable to Sandor. "Where do you and your father come from?"

Sable shifted footing. She had never been to any other towns except Clegane Hall and King's Landing. Then she remembered something: her mother had been born in a town close to Clegane Hall. "Cornfield," she replied.

"Cornfield?" The man tested the name. "Yeah, I've heard of that. South of Clegane Keep, I believe. Why don't you let us escort you and your poor father? We're headed to Deep Den."

"Oh, that is not necessary, sir. My father and I are walking at a leisurely pace. We have no want to slow you down."

"Nonsense!" the man began getting off of his horse, "what type of men would we be if we let a beautiful girl like you and her dear deaf father roam the countryside alone?"

The other chuckled and dismounted.

Sandor's back tensed and his hand reached for his sword.

The leader strode toward Sable, cooing, "come on now, why don't you show us how pretty you are under those clothes?"

Before Sable could blink, Sandor had grabbed the man's neck, yanked him away from Sable and slashed his belly with his sword. Sable watched as the man's entrails fell onto the ground. The smell, like rotting flesh, made her stomach churn. Turning away, Sable deposited the contents of her stomach. While on her knees, she heard the cries of the other man as he died. She hurled again.

"Drink," Sandor held a water cask to her. She hadn't even heard his footsteps. Looking up at the cask, she saw his bloody fingers.

"You have . . . blood on your hands."

"How many times have I told you?" He took a swig of the water, "just be grateful you're alive. You think you would be here without me?"

"No." Sable let tears fall down her eyes.

Sandor grunted at her tears. "Get up, girl. It is the strong who survive."

Slowly, she stood up, wiping the tears away. "Why didn't you just let them kill me then?"

"Because . . ." Sandor's dark brown eyes stared into Sable's. "I promised your sister I would take care of you."

Astonished, Sable looked at Sandor closely. Until that moment, she had forgotten Sandor and Jeyne had known each other, grew up with each other even. It made sense to her now why Sandor had made her his personal attendant and taken her to King's Landing away from Clegane's Keep. He had been protecting her.

"Are you coming or not?" Sandor growled.

Taking one more glance at the men lying on the ground, Sable let Sandor pull her up onto the horse.


	9. Chapter 9

After five days of travel, they came to the foot of the Western Mountains.

"Clegane's Keep is eight days from this point," Sandor spoke.

Sable whined, "Eight days? It feels like we've been traveling forever! I miss my bed!"

"Quit your whining." Sandor growled, though it lacked luster.

Sable rolled her eyes. "Alright then," she began walking into a patch of trees. "We will set up camp here, away from the road for the night. You go hunt something and I'll have a fire ready when you return."

"Now who made you the boss?" Sandor's voice almost sounded joyous, though it could have been the heat they had endured today. He tried to keep his mind off of Myla as much as possible, which eventually amounted to talking with Sable. They had chatted over trivial things, yet it helped.

He knew now that she loved birds and singing with them. A couple of times he had caught her singing to one. She had a lovely voice. Once, Sandor had sat down near a tree quietly and listened to her song. It was surprising to him how much he had missed music. When he was young, before his brother destroyed his face, his mother had sung to him.

Rain droplets fell onto Sandor's head as he walked through the forest. Thunder sounded miles away. He growled. There would be no fire tonight.

Sable's fears had also come out within the time of traveling. Back at the crossing of Blackwater Rush, Sandor had discovered her fear of water. Sadly, because they were trying to avoid being noticed, they had had to stray from the road to find a place to swim across the river.

"I don't see why we can't cross the bridge, Sandor!" Sable shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.

"Because, any people that recognize me will squeal. Soon enough, we will have people following us, or worse, my brother will take precautions to keep Myla from being rescued."

She gulped, "what type of precautions?"

Sandor remained silent, scanning the river. They couldn't stray from the road too far, or else it would add too much time onto their travels. "We're going to have to swim across." He placed Sable on the ground.

"Swim?" she exclaimed. "I don't . . . you're being ridiculous!"

"Take off your boots and your tunic."

Her face went white.

Sandor mistook her fear, "Seven Hells, girl, you and Myla are just the same. I'm not going to hurt you. Don't you think I would have done it by now?"

Sable shivered. "It's . . . it's not that. I . . . I can't swim."

Sandor's anger dissipated as he stared into the fearful eyes of a thirteen-year-old girl. He looked at the river. He knew he could do it, since he had learned to swim at a young age and knew these types of currents. The river would take him a little downstream, but he would make it to the other side.

He looked back to her, "We have two, and only two options. Option one, you trust yourself enough to swim across. I will be right next to you if you need me. Or option two, we return back to the bridge and face the fact that Myla will be dead before we reach her—if we reach her. And, I'd like to be dry by the time night comes, so decide quickly."

Sable looked to the rushing water as if it were a mighty beast ready to pounce. "Option one," she whispered, "for Myla."

"For Myla," Sandor's deep voice repeated.

Sandor explained to Sable how the water would pull her downstream and not to fight it. He also instructed her to kick her bare feet toward the opposite bank. "The most important thing to remember," Sandor said, "keep your head from sinking under."

Sable's tiny body shook with fear. Anything could be under that water. Monsters ready to pull her down. What if she went too far downstream? What if she didn't keep her head up?

"Let's go, Sable." Pulling the horse behind him, Sandor's bare feet led him into the cold rushing water. The horse didn't flinch, trusting Sandor completely. Sable, however, remained frozen on the bank.

"For Myla," she whispered to herself. "I'm coming to save you, Myla." Taking a deep breath, Sable walked toward the water.

The water felt cold and unfriendly. It rushed past her feet, her ankles, her legs, and then, her entire body. She gasped for air as she pushed for the surface.

"Sandor!" she cried before her head sunk again.

"Kick!" his deep voice answered. He could not see her body anymore.

She broke the surface for a second, "I can't!" She disappeared once more.

Sandor followed her likely trail down the bank. Damn, he thought.

Closer to where he stood, her head once more broke the surface and she cried out for help. Immediately Sandor jumped into the water towards her. The current took her down once more. He reached as far as he could, but she slipped from his grasp. Grunting, he dove under the water to locate her body.

Bursting to the surface, he carried her limp body up the bank of the river. The horse grazed twenty feet away.

"I'm . . ." sobs choked her breath, "sorry . . ." she sniffed, "I tried . . ."

Sandor held her lightly and rocked her back and forth. "You're alright, little bird. Shhhh." The nickname came out suddenly, without him thinking on it. Sansa Stark's face flashed through his mind quickly. He wondered if she was okay in the Red Keep, with Joffrey. She had refused his protection the same night he found Myla had tried to escape on her own. Sadness came over him. He couldn't protect anyone.

Watching the sun grow low in the sky, Sandor continued to rock her to calm. She had stopped crying, but her breaths still came in gasps. Neither of them said anything, they just watched as the sun disappeared behind the mountains.

The crash of thunder brought Sandor back into the present moment. Rain steadily fell on him as he walked back to the campsite, back to Sable. If they didn't get a fire going, they would be soaked all night, and that was not ideal if they wanted to continue on to Clegane's Keep—if they wanted to save Myla.

Myla's screams once more crossed Sandor's mind—the dream had plagued him every night. In the dream, he was unable to help her. He feared the same was true in reality.

"Stop right there!" a man's voice yelled.

Sandor stopped and focused on the trail before him. He had made it to the campsite. A man held a knife to Sable's neck. Her shirt had been ripped open and her young breasts showed. Sandor looked to the other men on his flanks.

"Throw your sword on the ground, Hound!"

Sandor flinched at the name, he hadn't heard it in a good week. Slowly, he loosened the belt at his waist and let it fall to the ground.

Sable's eyes bulged from her head and once more her breaths came short and quick.

"On your knees!"

He knelt, all the while watching the man holding Sable. The man's hand shook.

With a nod of his head, the man's two friends walked to Sandor and began to tie his hands behind his back. "Your brother," his voice wavered a little, "The Mountain, will pay a hefty fee for you and the girl, I presume. But that don't mean we can't have a little fun with ya first. Just like your brother is having fun with his little girl."

As the men wrapped the rope around his wrists, Sandor broke loose, hit one in his crotch and punched the other. Rushing at the leader and Sable, Sandor tackled both of them to the ground. Sable squirmed out of the man's grasp and watched as Sandor beat the man senseless.

The other two men stood up, ready to fight, but when Sandor stood up and looked at them, covered in the blood of their leader, they ran, unwilling to die.

"You alright, little bird?" Sandor whispered.

Sable covered her breasts and could only nod. If Sandor had come any later, they would have had their way with her. She shivered.

"They didn't . . .?"

Again, Sable only moved her head, "No."

Sandor let out a loud sigh. He couldn't handle losing any more of his ladies to vile men.

"If you hadn't come . . ."

"Try not to think of it," Sandor stepped toward her cautiously, trying to gage whether or not she needed comfort.

She drew away, repulsed. "I'm not thinking about myself! Myla is facing that same thing—maybe even worse! Except she doesn't have protection! No one is helping her!" She spoke softly now, "She is suffering every day and night with the fear I just felt! What if she's not strong enough . . . what if she . . . It's like Jeyne all over again." She covered her face and began to cry.

Sandor didn't know how to respond. He had little doubt that Myla wouldn't survive the experience. Jeyne hadn't. Jeyne had been the strongest woman Sandor knew, but when faced with his brother, that strength only lasted a few weeks. An image of Jeyne's bruised and bloody face flashed across Sandor's mind. He knew without a doubt: their time was running out.


	10. Chapter 10

They camped in silence that night, and every night after that. For eight days, they rode as far as they could and then walked. When the sun went down, they camped. Words weren't often shared between them.

Each night, Sandor woke in shock, sweating. Myla's screams echoing in the dark.

"I know you have nightmares," Sable said quietly to him. "Are they of Myla?"

Sandor growled, "It's nothing."

Sable rolled her eyes. "After I found Jeyne in the kitchens, I had nightmares too. Frequently at first, but now they only come occasionally."

Silence fell once more. Sandor's eyes scanned the mountain trail. They were almost there. If he squinted, he could see the point of the tower, just above that ridge.

"Did you love my sister?"

Sandor tensed his body, ready to fight. Seven years ago, he had vowed never to talk about her. It just reopened old wounds. "Now, what would you know about love, girl?"

"You're changing the topic!"

"Well I don't want to talk about that."

"Why?" Sable's voice rose in anger. "Is it because you were glad to be rid of her?"

Sandor knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Sable had said that for the sole purpose of angering him into answering the question, but he couldn't stop the rage he felt at the words. He pulled the reigns back on the horse.

"Get off."

Sable felt her body being lifted and placed on the ground. "You can't just leave me here!"

"You're going to stay here and stay put. I'm going into the Keep to grab Myla." He struggled to keep the anger from seeping into his words. "When I'm back, and you two are preciously reunited, you can find your own goddamned way out of these mountains."

He galloped off, dust collecting behind him. His heart felt wounded by her words, but he would never show it. One thought called for his attention, however: did Jeyne kill herself because she thought he had abandoned her?

Night fell as Sandor quietly approached the kitchens of Clegane's Keep. He had left the horse tied to a tree hidden in the forest. His plan was get in, grab Myla, and get out. If he were a godly man he would have sent up a prayer, but he wasn't and that wasn't about to change.

Lights flickered in the kitchen. Could he just walk in? Doubtful. Most of these servants knew him. They had served him while he had lived there. And no one could mistake the face of The Hound.

He crept toward the door, placing his body flat against the castle walls. Reaching for the handle of the kitchen door, he began to turn it slowly. Maybe he could just sneak in?

The door suddenly opened. Sable stepped in front of him and crossed her arms.

Shock swept Sandor's face. "Sable! I . . . I told you to stay there."

"Sandor," she stated matter-of-factly, "I grew up in this castle—as a servant, unlike you—I know it better." She pointed at him, "and don't you ever think I am incapable enough to be left on the side of the road. Now. Come on."

Sandor followed her into the kitchens. The girls washing pots next to the fire giggled when he approached.

"Sit." Sable commanded. She threw a giant pot at him and a brush. "Wash."

"Seven Hells," Sandor swore, "Sable we don't have time for this. We have to find Myla."

"Oh, so it's 'we' now, is it?"

"Look, I'm sorry I left you—"

"Save it. I'll find Myla. You will stay here." She held out a hand when Sandor began to protest. "Let's count, shall we? One, I know this castle better than you. Two, I'm not related to The Mountain. Three," Sable yelled in Sandor's face, "NO ONE WILL RECOGNIZE ME!" She smiled pleasantly, "Now, sit down and scrub."

Unable to protest, Sandor sat next to the girls. He looked out of place next to the small girls, his armor shining in the light of the fire. They giggled once more. Sandor was surprised that they weren't scared of him. What had Sable said?

Sure that Sandor would be fine with the girls, Sable went off to find Myla.

When Jeyne had been married to Sir Gregor Clegane, she had lived in his apartments in the castle, however, that had been when the Gregor and Sandor's parents lived in the main rooms. No doubt Gregor would have taken the better rooms by now.

Sable decided to check there first. She wasn't worried about being stopped. Servants always had something to do and someplace to be, as long as she looked like she was working, no one would care.

The Mountain rounded the corner. Scared, Sable froze and kept her eyes on the ground. Please don't notice me, please. He stomped on, never even glancing at the servant girl. Sable let out a sigh of relief and kept walking.

Down the hall and to the right, Sable found the main castle rooms. She tried the door. Locked. Pressing her ear to it, she tried to hear anything that would lead her to believe Myla was inside. She could wait for The Mountain to return, but then what? Remembering a secret hallway into the room, she left the door and rounded the corner once more.

The secret hall had been used by Sandor's family for many years. It was made to be used for emergencies, but some nobles had found other uses for it, such as smuggling in lovers or sneaking away from guards. Sable had used it to meet secretly with her sister.

As she turned the corner, The Mountain grabbed her by the wrists and lifted her to his height.

"So you're not a ghost. Good. That means you can squirm."

Sable did indeed squirm, "let me go! I'm just a servant!"

"Ha! Just a servant, my ass. You're the spitting image of her . . . of my Jeyne. You must be that brat of a sister—all grown up I see." He stared down at her breasts. "I wonder if you have indeed crossed into womanhood. Tell me," He brought Sable's face close to his, "are you still a maiden?"

"Let me go!"

Gregor chuckled, "I'll take your silence as a no." He sneered, "Good. Jeyne might have denied me my right to her children, but perhaps I can plop a child into you."

The Mountain began to walk toward a door. Sable yelled for help, but the servants scurried away, pretending not to hear her. She kicked and screamed, but nothing fazed the brute of a man. Opening the door, The Mountain threw her in. She landed hard on the floor.

"I'll come back for you soon, little Jeyne."

As he locked the door, Sable wrapped her arms around her chest. He would come back, and he would take her.


	11. Chapter 11

Warning: this chapter may contain triggers of uncomfortable memories and feelings. Please respond accordingly.

Also, I have changed a huge plot point within Sandor's life that does not directly correlate with the books or show.

Sandor began to worry. He had been in the kitchen for hours, scrubbing. He honestly didn't know how these girls did it: hunching over, cleaning pots bigger than their own bodies, and tending to the blisters. He promised himself that if he ever owned a house with servants, he would pay them the amount equal to their labor. He remembered Jeyne telling him once that the servants were always underpaid, though he didn't listen at the time because he had only really cared about one thing.

Looking up from the pot he was washing, he grabbed Millie's attention. "Do you think Sable will be back soon?"

"Shh"

"Don't 'shh' me, I asked you a question, girl."

"Shh. You will get us in trouble."

Sandor glanced at the sleeping old woman in the corner. She hadn't woken up this entire time, she hadn't even stirred. Sandor wondered if she was even alive.

"I can't stay here forever, I need to get Sable and Myla out of here."

"I'm sorry . . ." her voice quivered, "that won't happen. At first light, you should leave."

Sandor's anger rose. "What in the seven hells does that mean?"

"I . . . Sable was captured by Sir Clegane two hours ago," Millie whispered. "Lady Myla is bound in her rooms. They will not be able to escape, I'm sorry, but there is no hope. If you want to live, you will leave."

Sandor pushed the pot away. "Two hours?! When did you find this out?! Why didn't you tell me?!"

Millie jumped at his loud voice. He was going to wake up Mistress. Tears streamed down her face. "Sir, please! I meant you no disrespect. Please, don't hurt us."

Sandor frowned. He had forgotten what it was like to be around people who feared him. Myla and Sable had always challenged his anger, his rudeness. They were not like other girls. "Okay, I'll be quiet" Sandor whispered, "Just . . . stop crying."

Millie sniffed, "I'm sorry."

"Do you know where they are keeping Sable?"

She nodded her head no.

Sandor didn't believe her. How had she come across this information anyways? Part of him wished he could act threatening, the way he always acted with men, to get answers. But now, his heart would not let him. He had seen too many women live in fear.

Turning, he walked out the door.

The castle hadn't changed since he was a boy, and this made Sandor feel weary. Memories flashed by as he took a familiar route. Every corner seemed threatening, as if Jeyne's ghost still haunted the halls. Sandor didn't know where he was going, until his feet led him to a garden—their garden. He could almost see Jeyne sitting next to the fountain, flowers braided into her hair.

"Why didn't you save me?" Her ghost asked.

Falling to his knees, Sandor began to cry.

Jeyne walked toward him, her green dress brushing the stone walkway lightly. She crouched next to him. "Sandor," she whispered.

Sandor felt his heart rip open at his name. Her voice, oh how he loved the sound of her voice. He hated the pain this vision brought him, and yet didn't want it to end. "I'm sorry, Jeyne," the tears made him gasp, "I wasn't strong enough to protect you."

Jeyne continued to look at him. "You're a coward."

Abruptly, Sandor looked into the ghosts eyes. How could she say that when he cried at her knees? Pain once more pierced his heart as the memory swept over him. She was right. He was a coward.

"Sandor," Jeyne whispered, "let's leave, tonight. Let's run away and never come back!"

Sandor laughed, "Where would you want to go, my love?"

"I'm not joking, Sandor." Jeyne cast her eyes to the ground. A sign Sandor had recognized as frustration.

"What's wrong?" Sandor rushed to her side. "What is it?"

"There are rumors," she glanced at his face, then decided to hold her hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, lovingly. "There are rumors that your brother will choose a bride soon."

"So?" Sandor held her close, "Isn't that a good thing? It means he will leave us alone."

Jeyne looked at the floor once more. "Sandor," she whispered, "he's going to choose me."

"What? That's ridiculous. He knows that we . . ."

"That's exactly why he will choose me! Sandor, you know how jealous he gets when you have something that he doesn't. He'll take me away and who knows what he will do to you!"

"Sure, he gets jealous, and he's a big talker, but, Jeyne, he's never hurt me before."

"Sandor, please, let's leave. We will go where no one knows us! We can start a new life!"

Sandor stepped back. "Jeyne, I can't just leave. This is my home. Where else could we go? I don't know how to provide for you."

Jeyne looked hurt. "You could learn! We could learn together! You think I need a castle and fine dresses to be happy?"

"That's not what I mean, Jeyne. I just . . . What if I can't provide for you? And what about your mother or your sister? I can't provide for them either!"

Jeyne stepped away from Sandor. "I'm not asking for you to provide for us. I want us to be a team. We can all provide for each other."

"Jeyne . . ." Sandor reached out for her, but she stepped away. "You deserve to feel safe and cared for. We can have that here. When we get married, your belly will be full every night and you will never want for anything. If we leave . . . I could never forgive myself."

Jeyne began to yell, "You're not listening to me! I'm not safe here! Your brother will ask for my hand in marriage! Do you want that? Do you want me to be taken away?"

"That's not going to happen, Jeyne. I promise. Please, trust me. I'll talk to my brother. I'll make sure he has no interest in your hand. Trust me." Once more he reached out for her. This time, she melted into his arms.

"Okay," she whispered, "I'll trust you."

"I love you, Jeyne."

"I love you too, Sandor."

Sandor stepped into the banquet hall, heading to his spot at the royal table. His mother and father sat in the middle, Gregor on his father's left—a place of honor. Sandor's spot was always next to his mother, though she cared little for his presence.

This feast was to honor his brother, and Sandor felt the weight of Jeyne's worry. Tonight Gregor would claim a bride.

"Gregor," Sandor tried to keep his voice steady as he stood next to his brother's seat. "Could we have a word?"

Gregor sighed, "What do you want?"

I wish to talk in private for this matter, brother."

"Well you better spit it out now, Sandor, or I will run out of patience."

Sandor looked at his mother and father—they both leaned closer to hear the conversation. Sandor cleared his throat. "I wish to express to you my plans to marry Jeyne—she works as a maid here in the castle."

Gregor raised an eyebrow. "Found someone to love you, Sandor?"

"Why yes, actually. We wish to be married soon."

"Have no fear, brother, I do not wish to marry a maid unless her chest is full and her maidenhood is intact."

"Oh, well," Sandor became flustered, "Jeyne's maidenhood is still intact, but not the point. Thank you for understanding, brother. I told her you would."

"She talks about me, does she?"

Sandor began to stutter, "oh we were just discussing tonight and you're choice of a bride, but no we don't normally talk about you."

Sandor's father stood up, announcing the time had arrived for Gregor to choose his bride. Sandor stepped back, happy that he had accomplished his goal at the perfect time. He smiled as he felt the warmth of the fire at his back.

"Which fair maiden does my precious son choose for his bride?"

"I have heard many good things about this lady," Gregor announced, "though she is not high-born, I believe her to have those things in which a man delights in—a full chest and intact maidenhood!"

Men from around the banquet hall cheered.

Gregor continued, "Bring in the maiden called Jeyne!"

Sandor's breath left him. Had he heard correctly?

The doors at the back of the hall opened. Two guards held Jeyne between them. She struggled to exit their grasp. Jeyne locked eyes with Sandor—fear engulfed them.

"Gregor!" Sandor yelled with fury. "Gregor! This is the lady I told you about! This is my intended!"

The patrons in the room began to whisper, they couldn't wait until they spread the gossip to the entire kingdom.

"I'm sorry, Sandor, but have mother and father agreed to that arrangement? Have they not agreed to give me any bride I wish?"

Sandor looked at his parents. They didn't seem concerned in the slightest. Sandor clenched his fists. "You cannot have her."

"What did you say?" Gregor turned fully to Sandor now. His face grew red and he stood tall as a mountain. "I can have whatever and whomever I want, you fucking bastard! Do not tell me what I can and cannot have!" He began walking menacingly toward Sandor.

Sandor reached for his sword, sensing the danger he was in, but it was not there. He had never needed his sword in his own house before.

Gregor grabbed Sandor's hair and bashed his head back into the stone fireplace. Sandor's vision blurred. Then, Sandor felt Gregor's blow to his stomach and doubled over onto the ground. Blood spewed from Sandor's mouth.

Pulling Sandor's head to his mouth, Gregor whispered, "I'll have your woman. I'll fuck her so hard that she cries out for you. With every blow I deliver to her, I will make her hate you for letting me have her. By the time I'm done ripping her maidenhood apart, she won't even remember you. And then when I'm done with her, I'll let my friends rip her to pieces."

Sandor struggled in anger. Jeyne. He had to protect Jeyne.

The smell of burning flesh spread across the banquet hall. Gregor laughed as he held his brother's face into the fire. Sandor's screams went unanswered. At some point, his mother announced that if he was not strong enough to protect himself, then he was not strong enough to protect a maiden. Jeyne would be Gregor's.

Sandor let the tears come, "I'm sorry, Jeyne. I was a coward. I should have run away with you. We should have left the moment you said something. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I never came to see you after that. I'm sorry I left you there. I should have fought harder."

Jeyne's ghost lifted Sandor's chin up. "Leave the past in the past, my dear. You can still save her from my fate. Don't be a coward." Slowly, the beautiful vision faded.

Sandor wiped his eyes. Jeyne was right. She was dead. There was nothing he could do about it. But, he could save Myla. He needed to save Myla.


	12. Chapter 12

Warning: this chapter may contain triggers of uncomfortable memories and feelings. Please respond accordingly.

Wiping her eyes, Sable looked around the room. It was a lavish guest room. The bed held a canopy and a bookshelf ran along the walls. Sable recognized some of the books. These had been Jeyne's rooms.

Sable stood up quickly and ran to the bookshelf. The secret passage opened with a crack when Sable pulled out a generic book. Sable smiled to herself. The Mountain had never discovered their nightly meetings, and so had no reason to think that Sable would recognize the room.

Hope filled her once more. The Mountain would not touch her. She could still save Myla and get everyone out before they were detected. She wondered briefly if Sandor had been caught. No doubt The Mountain would sweep the castle for any other familiar faces. Sending up a small prayer to the seven, Sable walked down the dark passageway toward the royal chambers.

She heard grunts as she approached the door to the royal chambers. Through a peep-hole, Sable could see The Mountain, naked, on top of Myla. Myla was stretched and bound to the four corners of the bed, unable to move. Sable could smell blood.

Sable looked away and covered her ears. Too many times she had sat behind the bookshelves listening to the cries of her sister—only, she realized, Myla wasn't crying. This time she wanted to do something, anything to help, but she knew she was still too young and weak. If she approached The Mountain now, even if by surprise, no doubt she would get caught and he would take both of them. Once more, she was helpless.

As the light faded, Sable removed her hands from her ears. Everything was silent. Slowly, Sable peeked through the hole and saw that The Mountain was gone. Still bound to the bed, Myla lay there in fluids, so still that she could have been dead.

Sable emerged cautiously from behind the bookcase and tiptoed to Myla. Myla's eyes were closed.

"Myla," Sable whispered. "Myla, I'm here to rescue you, we have to go!"

Myla did not stir.

Frantically, Sable began to untie her wrists and feet from the bed posts. The rope had rubbed her skin raw. Blood and bruising covered her white skin. Even with her arms and legs free, Myla did not awaken. Maybe she needed water, Sable thought. Rushing to the washroom, Sable scooped some water into a cup. Sable's heart pounded. The Mountain could come back at any moment.

Suddenly the door opened and Sable jumped, spilling the water.

"Sable, where's Myla?" Sandor's deep voice boomed.

Sable let out a sigh of relief before comprehending his words. Myla? "She's on the . . ." Sable looked at the empty bed. "She was right there!"

Quickly, Sandor rushed to the balcony. "Myla, stop!"

"Get away from me!" Myla's voice croaked as she stood naked on the wrong side of the railing. "Don't touch me!"

"Myla," Sandor pleaded, "Its Sandor. Don't jump. I'm here to take you away. We can go somewhere safe."

"There is nowhere safe. You can't protect me. He'll be back and he'll . . ."

Sandor took a tentative step towards her.

Without another word, Myla let go of the railing and felt the wind rush across her bare skin. She was free.

Sandor rushed to the edge of the balcony, reached his arm out to Myla, and barely caught her wrist. Her flight was jerked to a stop and she swung from Sandor's grasp. She heard Sandor growl in pain.

"No!" Myla screamed, "Let me go! I want to die!" She clawed at his grip.

"Seven Hells, woman! I'm not letting you die!"

"Let me go! I hate you! I don't want you to save me!"

Slowly, Sandor pulled her up and over the balcony. She continued to kick and scream, except now she cried. Pulling her to his chest, Sandor cooed.

"It's alright, Myla. I'll protect you now. Shh. I'm here." Sandor placed his cheek on the top of her head.

She relaxed into his soft, yet calloused, touch and continued to cry.

Sable cleared her throat. "Sandor, we have to go. The Mountain will come back."

Myla stiffened at the name. Sandor sighed, the moment gone.

"Find her something to wear, Sable. Something that won't draw attention."

Sandor picked up Myla gently, much like he had done months ago in the palace, after her whipping. This time, however, Myla did not look at him or Sable and did not help them prepare for an escape. Sandor hoped it was only shock.

Sable returned with a dark cloak. "It was the best I could find in this room. We might be able to find something else later."

"It works. Let's go." He stepped toward the door.

"No," Sable commanded, "not that way. Follow me. We will use the tunnels."

Sandor nodded, trusting Sable completely.

She led them down the corridor as quickly as she could, turning down corners that she had memorized as a child. She followed the one she knew would lead them to the stables.

"Sandor," Sable whispered, "I don't know how to ride." Sable cursed herself for never learning. They would not all fit on Sandor's horse anyway. They needed a wagon or something, but a wagon might slow them down.

"Once we reach my horse at the edge of the forest, it won't matter. You can sit on her and she'll follow me."

"If we make it to her," Sable replied.

Sandor growled low. He didn't need comments like that right now.

Opening a door, Sable stepped out onto the fields dividing the castle from the stables. Before walking into the morning light, she looked both ways. No one was around, yet.

Walking across the fields made Sable's heart ache. They were sitting ducks. Anyone could see them. She quickened her pace.

Suddenly, a whooshing sound flew past her ears, and an arrow planted itself into the ground.

"Run!" Sandor yelled.

Sable sprinted as fast as she could, but Sandor passed her easily. For a moment, she thought he would leave her, but then she realized that she wanted him to. He must get Myla to safety, no matter the cost. Even if that cost is me.

Sandor slowed, trying to grab her hand, but she yelled at him to keep going and leave her.

Two more arrows rushed by.

Sable's eyes met Sandor's as he ran next to her. She could see his hesitation.

"Damnit, Sable, keep running! We're almost to the stables!"

"Sandor! Go! I'll catch up! Prepare a horse, please!"

He nodded, and then ran as fast as he could, setting his eyes on his goal. When inside the stables, he placed Myla in a bed of hay and ran to the nearest horse. Every few seconds he checked the entrance for Sable. Still nothing.

Sandor had the horse saddled and ready when he heard Sable enter. Without glancing up, he demanded, "Make sure Myla wraps the cloak around her properly."

Her response came as a gasp, which made Sandor jerk his head toward her. She limped toward him, an arrow in her side. Blood covered her hands and stomach. "Sandor . . ." she said weakly before falling to the ground.

Running to her, Sandor knelt on the dirt. "It's okay," he whispered, "We can heal this."

"No . . . time," she gasped.

"To hell there's not, we just . . . we need some supplies."

Sable placed a bloodied hand on his scarred cheek. "Get Myla to safety."

"I'm not . . ." his voice cracked, "I'm not leaving you here. You'll be captured. My brother . . . he'll . . ."

Sable tensed at the mention of The Mountain. He would replace Myla with her. She'd soon be the one tied to the bed. She looked at Sandor's sagging eyebrow and mangled skin. The Mountain had burned his own brother out of jealousy. Was that what she could expect for her future?

"Sandor," she whispered, ". . . kill me."

Sandor's face scrunched in confusion.

"Please," she begged. "I can't be his prisoner. I can't endure what my sister . . . Please."

"We can make it to my horse, Sable. We can . . . we . . ."

"Wake up!" Sable yelled. "We can't and you know it!" She softened, "please, Sandor. You promised my sister . . . you would keep me safe. I won't be safe with . . . him . . . kill me."

Tears began silently streaming down Sandor's eyes. It occurred to Sable that this was the first time she had ever seen him cry.

"Please," she moaned.

Sandor stood up, looming tall over her. The tears had disappeared and a hard shell had covered his emotions. Voices of soldiers neared the stable. It was now or never. Drawing his sword, Sandor lifted it into the air.

"I love you, big brother," Sable whispered.

Without responding, Sandor drove his sword into the chest of his thirteen-year-old sister. He watched, behind an emotionless mask, as the light faded from her eyes.

Sheathing his sword, Sandor looked at Myla. She cowered in the corner, shaking her head back and forth.

"Let's go," he commanded as he reached for her arm.

She screamed, "No! You're a monster! Don't touch me! You killed her! She's dead!"

Growling, Sandor picked her up and flung her over his shoulder. He was not going to lose this battle, not after everything that had happened.

Arrows flew by as they trotted out of the stable. Guards dove out of the way as Sandor drove the horse through them. He drove the horse as hard as he could, trying to get some distance between them and . . . her.

As they passed the forest, Sandor hopped off, untied his horse, and hopped back on with Myla—now silent and cowering. He continued running. He knew his horse would follow right behind. Without any particular destination, he kept the horse moving, the jostling of the horse beneath him lulling him into a stupor.


	13. Chapter 13

Authors Note: Thank you to everyone who has read this far. I am currently reworking the beginning chapters and have significantly changed some of the plot points. It would aid your comprehension if you went back and reread the story. Sorry for any inconvenience. My story may have some errors during the time I am reworking, so please be patient. I welcome all feedback!

The western sun painted the sky orange as Sandor finally slowed the horse. The mountains were behind them now, and a long stretch of flat land appeared in front of them. Town lights popped up around the valley, preparing for night.

Sandor jumped down from the horse, wanting to give it a rest. "We will camp here for the night," he said.

Myla did not stir. She only stared forward in a daze.

Immediately, Sandor missed Sable: her laugh, her willingness to help. But the feeling made his stomach lurch, so he pushed it away and began to collect firewood.

Occasionally, Sandor would feel Myla's eyes watching him, so he would turn, hopeful. But when he looked at her, he saw no life in her eyes. His heart felt as if it had begun to bleed. He remembered that look—the same lifeless eyes Jeyne had worn.

Anger boiled inside of him. His damned brother. Oh how we wished he could torture his brother the way Jeyne and Myla had been tortured. He wished he could take everything his brother loved and destroy it. He wished . . . he wished . . .

A scream came from behind him. Sandor turned, sword in hand, and prepared for a battle. As his vision focused, he saw the stolen horse run down toward the valley, and Myla lying on the ground crying. How had the horse been spooked?

Looking once more at Myla, he wondered if being thrown from the horse had broken anything, and began walking towards her. She cowered, crawling backwards. Her eyes darted from him to behind him. Expecting to see an enemy, Sandor turned to where she looked.

A tree had been torn to shreds with a sword. A pile of firewood laid at the base.

And then something clicked. Sandor realized, in his anger, he had started slashing at the tree, this scared the horse into a run, and Myla had not been able to hold on.

Sheathing his sword, Sandor felt guilty. He had let his anger get the better of him. He glanced at Myla. She was no longer the headstrong maiden willing to look him in the eye. She was afraid of him—just like everyone else.

Sandor shuddered in the cold night. The screams of his nightmare echoed in his head. He looked around their camp, the fire still crackling nicely. The only way Myla would get near the fire was if he slept as far away from it as possible.

He watched the orange light dance across her face. Shadows accentuated the dark circles under her eyes and the bruises on her nose. One cut sliced across her upper lip. Sandor could not see her bare skin under the cloak, but he assumed her body was similarly wounded.

Her body would need time to heal. Her mind would need even more time.

Sandor thought about his own emotional pain dealing with Jeyne. Seven years had passed since Jeyne hung from his kitchen rafters. Sandor winced at the memory, then pushed it away. Seven years and he still was not healed.

How long would it take Myla to heal?

A small, cynical voice, which sounded like Jeyne, whispered in his head, "She will never be the same, Sandor."

Despair engulfed him as he once more fell into a nightmare-filled sleep.

Sandor woke up to Myla's lifeless eyes staring at him from across the fire. Sandor squirmed to avoid her gaze and looked around. Morning light hadn't reached the valley yet, but the sky had already turned pink. They should probably get moving. No doubt his brother was searching for them. It gave Sandor some pleasure to know that, for once, he had succeeded in taking something from his brother.

He looked at Myla, then felt guilty for the thought. She was not an object, she was a person. A lifeless person, but still a person. She deserved a better life than being the center of a brotherly feud. And so Sandor made up his mind: he vowed to stay with Myla until she woke up from her stupor. She deserved at least that.

Moving my body felt like the most momentous task in the world. It ached so much that I wished I never had to move again. The fire felt warm on my face, but nowhere else. I didn't even have the strength to wiggle my toes.

I only watched as The Hound packed up camp. Every time I looked at him, however, I hated him. He had killed her—Sable. He had driven his sword into her chest. I could not forgive him.

And what was worse, when I wished to die, The Hound had stopped me! All I wanted was to die. If I were dead, my body would not ache. If I were dead, The Mountains touch would not hover over me. If I were dead, everything would be better.

The Hound lifted me into his arms. I did not struggle. I had no struggle left. He placed me on the horse and then got on himself. I loathed being this close to his body. He was a murderer. He was just like his brother. It really was only a matter of time until he decided to take me too. I hated him.

I watched the pink sky turn to blue as morning reached the valley. The horse swayed beneath us. I had no idea where we were going, and I didn't care.

I hated myself too. I had been too weak to escape the castle. I had been too weak to free myself. I had been too weak to kill myself. I was nothing but a piece of shit.

Hadn't The Mountain told me so for so many weeks? He had been right, though it took me some time to see it. I never should have struggled. I could have saved myself a lot of pain if I had just complied.

Better not to struggle with The Hound either if I wanted to survive. Did I want to survive? No. Next chance I had, I promised myself, I would find a way to die.

I forced my eyes open the second I felt The Hound shifting his weight off the horse. How long had I been sleeping? Stars shown above me and crickets chirped. We were in a sleeping village, next to an inn.

"I need you to walk," The Hound's raspy voice said. He picked me up and gently placed my feet on the ground.

I felt only a small buzzing as my feet touched the stone walkway. The Hound still held my body up, unsure whether or not I could walk. Well of course I could! I pushed him away, determined to prove that I didn't need him.

My legs gave out from the weight and I slumped to the ground. Great! Another way I'm inadequate.

"We will take it slowly then," his voice sounded soft.

I hated his pity.

Picking me up once more, he decided to just carry me into the inn.

As we entered, the light took me by surprise and I closed my eyes. I could hear voices, laughter, and then gasps. I opened my eyes to see everyone staring at us. Whispers broke out. Everyone knew the face of The Hound.

He placed me at a table and went to see the woman behind the bar. I looked at the faces of the men around me. They sneered, and yet I did not find it unwelcome. Perhaps these men could help me. Perhaps one of them would take me from The Hound and grant my wish to die.

I smiled at the closest man, hoping that I still looked somewhat appealing.

He leaned closer to me, "are you alright, m'lady? You, well, you don't really look that good."

I frowned, disappointed.

"I don't mean that . . ." the man cleared his throat, "I just mean that you look as if you've been to hell and back. Are you . . ." he lowered his voice, "are you The Hound's whore?"

Whore. I was a whore, wasn't I? The Mountain liked to say so when he beat me. I nodded. "I could be yours, if you were willing to help me?"

The man looked to The Hound, still talking to the bartender.

Suddenly, an older man slammed his fist down on the table between us. "My son will not take any liking to you, whore! No one in their right mind would want used goods, and from a Clegane at that!" He looked to his son. "Get up, we're leaving."

His words rang in my ear. Used goods. Used goods. Trash. I was trash. The world began to spin.

"Myla?" The Hound grabbed my shoulders and tried to get me to look at him. I refused. I slammed my eyes shut and struggled within his grasp. I felt my body lifted into his arms as he began to walk. The voices faded. The spinning stopped.

As I opened my eyes, I saw that he had brought me to a room. It had a fire in the corner, a bed in the middle, and a wooden chair across the room. He placed me on the bed and looked at me. I could almost hear his words of pity. I scowled.

"The barmaid gave me clothes for you." He paused, squirming. "Can you manage?"

I glared at him and then looked away. What was the point?

He growled. "Fine! I'll put them on you by myself."

He reached for me, hesitant at first. I remained still. I'd already learned my lesson about fighting it. Slowly, The Hound took the cloak from me. I felt the cold air dance across my naked body.

The Hound gasped. No doubt he was excited by what he saw. The Mountain sure had been. I looked down to The Hound's cock—weird, I thought, it did not seem excited by me. I reached for it then, hoping to wake it up.

The Hound leapt back in surprise. "Seven hells! What are you . . .? Did you think I would . . .?" He mumbled, "Fuck."

"You might as well," I replied.

Shock appeared on his face, then sadness. He threw the cloak back at me, and walked out the door.


End file.
